


If I Never Return

by thesecretmichan



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Disturbing Themes, Fal-tor-pan, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, T'hy'la Big Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:26:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecretmichan/pseuds/thesecretmichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There would be side-effects, the healers had warned. One could not yank a soul from its host, stuff it in a holding place, and attempt to put it all back without repercussions. Hallucinations of the visual and auditory (and perhaps even olfactory, one had theorized) senses were to be expected. His body and mind needed to reacclimate themselves. As long as Spock recognized what was real and what was not, they informed him, there was no cause for alarm.</p><p>"I know what is real," Spock stuttered, and the flesh peeled back from his face. "I am in control."</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Never Return

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh! Three months later and this fic is finally done *-* I don't normally write everything up and post it in one go, so this was a bit of a challenge for me. Just a few things to go over before we get to the fic: There is a lot of disturbing imagery in here, and it's not for everyone, so if it's not your cup of tea then that's perfectly alright. There's also no character death, but there are mentions of it (which, if you've all seen WOK and etc. you should know about already). Ummm, there's a handful of Vulcan words and phrases scattered about in here, which you can either hover over to read or scroll down to the bottom for a full list of translations. Finally, there's just a liiiittle bit of commentary after the fic, but don't read it until you're done! That's cheating c;
> 
> OKAY THANK YOU PLEASE ENJOY SORRY FOR RAMBLING SO MUCH <3

_"Jim."_

_Jim's heart stopped, and then jerked, pounding so hard he feared it might burst from his chest. And Spock, Spock was_ looking at him _, his eyes a dark swirl of confusion, that familiar,_ wonderful _Vulcan intensity focused entirely on him. Jim's breath caught in his throat and Spock continued:_

_"Your name... is Jim."_

_And it was as if time had stopped and suddenly started moving again, lurching forward and birthing a light in Jim that he thought he'd never get back. Unbidden, his lips pulled back in a smile, his eyes crinkled, and his heart sang."_ Yes _," he replied._

_Jim was home again._

***

Jim Kirk's eyes snapped open and he inhaled sharply, the thick tang of recycled oxygen clinging to the back of his throat. The soft chirp of crickets outside his window, while not quite as welcoming as the hum of the _Enterprise_ , were a soothing melody to his ears, the cool darkness of the room a relief to the sweat that dripped down his spine. His legs were tangled in his sheets, twisted around his calves like a noose, and Jim kicked them off the bed and onto the floor with a grunt. When he sat up, a sigh on his lips, it was a reminder of where he was and, more importantly, where he was _not_.

"Not on Vulcan," he whispered aloud, as if that would cement it more firmly in his mind. He scrubbed a hand across his face. "Computer," he said then, "lower temperature by two degrees. Lights at ten percent."

Jim threw off his shirt and boxers, damp with his own sweat, and padded over to the bathroom. The reflection that stared back at him was tired - haggard, one might argue. "Kirk, my boy," he mused, "you look like hell." He peered at the clock on the wall - 04:52. Great. "'Might as well shower and get ready for the new day."

The corridors of the Vulcan Compound, though never quite deserted, were fairly empty - not late enough for the early birds to be out and about, but also not early enough for the scientists with overnight projects to be returning from the labs. Jim yawned and hastily pulled his fist up to cover his mouth; his eyes watered mercilessly at the sudden attack.

"Captain!" his yeoman greeted from out of nowhere. He smiled and Jim racked his brain for the young man's name as he continued with a, "Good morning! You're up early - did you sleep alright?"

"I'm fine, Yeoman," Jim replied, "just getting an early start. How was your evening? Did you sleep alright?"

"Like a baby, sir," he chirped; Jim smiled easily and the name clicked into place - Kenneth Tran, yeoman second class. He'd just been assigned to Jim yesterday. "I was just on my way to make some coffee," Tran said then. "Would you like me to bring you a cup?"

"Or two," Jim suggested with a grin, only half-kidding. "Thank you, Kenneth, that would be great."

Tran practically glowed at that and he nodded once with a cheery, "Sure thing!" He moved to leave, but stopped at the last minute, turning back so he could slyly say, "Oh, by the way, sir - I saw Captain Spock heading for one of the meditation domes. You could probably still catch him if you hurry."

Against his will, Jim felt his cheeks warm and he coughed, tugging at his shirt collar. "Thank you, Yeoman - that'll be all."

"Yes, sir." Tran snapped a sharp salute and trotted off on what Jim assumed to be his aforementioned coffee mission.

Jim felt his already shaky appetite leave him, an odd, jittery combination of dread and excitement spreading throughout his chest; he turned on his heel and made his way to the elevator.

***

The doors to the meditation gardens opened many times a day, each in the exact same fashion (barring a malfunction); there was no logical way for Spock to know who or what would be arriving until they either announced their arrival or took that first step out. And yet, Spock had... a feeling. As the doors slid apart, Spock relaxed his posture, opened his eyes, and said, "Good morning, Captain. Is everything alright?"

Jim's eyes locked onto him at once in a way that made Spock want to squirm. His eyebrows furrowed, and then he smiled, saying, "I'm fine, Spock. Why does everyone keep asking that?" His eyes softened. "Good morning."

Spock's heart stuttered in his side; he cleared his throat, tamping down the odd sensation. It would not do to allow his bodily functions to careen out of control like that. Spock made a mental note to add one more hour of meditation to correct the lapse.

Jim smiled fondly down at him, as if privy to an inside joke Spock had long ago forgotten. His captain hesitated, then padded over (barefoot, as was customary) to take a seat beside Spock. Spock found himself staring, despite himself. Cross-legged and hands clasped, Jim inhaled deeply before asking in a quiet voice, "Is it alright if I meditate with you?"

"I do not mind your presence here," Spock told him as he pulled his gaze away. This was easy - this, Spock could do.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, if the sudden clenching of Spock's insides was any indication), the silence did not last long. "How have you been adjusting to California?" Jim asked, eyes flickering between his hands and the fire pot before them. "The weather or gravity giving you any problems?"

"Do not trouble yourself, Captain," Spock said with a slight incline of his head. "I have been acclimating quite well."

"That's good," Jim near-whispered; he and Spock locked eyes and Jim jerked his gaze away, almost awkwardly, and he continued with a forced lightness, "Have you been sleeping?"

Spock knew Humans often spent their time engaging in mundane conversations such as these (conversations that held little more meaning than 'Do you know the time?' - Illogical); Spock had no interest in such endeavors. However, the stilted inquiry combined with what he _did_ know of James Kirk (and how Spock knew that the man legitimately worried after his well-being), Spock determined Jim's concern to be genuine. So: "A few hours here and there, yes," he revealed.

" _Spock_ ," Jim laughed, and Spock was once again struck with the strongest feeling of déjà-vu, and the notion that this laugh was one Spock was oft on the receiving end of. Something deep inside him stirred, stretching, eyes blinking open, as if Spock had been sleeping for a very long time and just now begun to wake. "You need to sleep, same as the rest of us," Jim finished, eyes twinkling.

Spock paused, debating the wisest course of action to take from there. Then, arching one pointed eyebrow: "Vulcans require significantly less rest than Humans."

"Yes, I am aware of that," Jim replied next, a sort of self-deprecation in his tone, a crooked grin on his face. It was as if Jim was suddenly light years away: there was something in his eyes when he looked at Spock, something he was remembering that Spock wasn't. It _frustrated_ Spock.

Despite his frustration, something in Jim's tone made Spock ask, "And you, Captain? How have you been sleeping?"

"Me?" Jim's expression wavered for a moment. Then: "A few hours here and there." Spock shot Jim a scrutinous look and Jim's smile twisted into something more indulgent, as if he could read Spock's innermost thoughts, could decipher his carefully-guarded emotions. "I'm just getting my Earth-legs back, Mr. Spock," he teased, eyes sliding shut. "It's nothing to worry about."

Spock hesitated, and then: "I do not recall you ever having that problem before, Captain."

Jim's head snapped back to Spock, so fast it looked like it physically pained him. Lines etched into his forehead and he whispered, "You recall...?"

The blind and desperate hope in his captain's eyes terrified him, washing over him like a bucket of ice, and the sudden switch in temperament left Spock slightly dizzy. Spock pressed his lips together and turned his gaze back to the [asenoi](boop), noting, "I recall bits and pieces - it is most frustrating. I had hoped my memory would return to me in some sort of order, but, so far, it all seems to be one gigantic..." Spock pursed his lips. "...mess," he finished, somewhat distastefully.

Jim's fingers still clung white to his legs, but at least some of the despair had drained from his face. His captain pulled on another smile - weaker than before, but still just as blinding. "That's just the way our brains are designed, Mr. Spock. Chaotic. Messy. Everything-" Jim faltered for a moment. "Everything will come back eventually."

"Perhaps the Human brain," Spock relented, "but the Vulcan brain is highly organized."

Jim's lips twisted wryly. "Half-messy, then."

Spock nearly sighed. "Captain-"

" _Jim_ ," his captain urged; his hands twitched and he seemed to reign himself back in. Jim actually _did_ sigh. "Won't you just call me 'Jim', Spock?" he asked.

The hall doors whooshed open and Yeoman Tran stepped out (still wearing his shoes, Spock noted), a large cup of coffee in either hand. He handed the styrofoam-encased beverage to Jim, who accepted it gratefully before turning back to Spock.

"I have two point two five hours remaining in my meditation regimen," Spock simply said. "I do not require sustenance at this time."

Jim's eyes shut briefly; then he turned to his yeoman, said, "Thank you for the coffee, Kenneth," and promptly buried his face in his cup.

Tran looked between the two of them, a little lost, before taking a hesitant sip of his own cup and heading out the doors.

***

Meditating with Spock was painful.

It hurt him to admit that - meditation with the half-Vulcan usually brought him joy, peace, _clarity_. None of these things came to Jim this morning. Instead he felt irritated, uncomfortable, _twitchy_. 

Jim was aware he was not putting the proper focus into his [wh'ltri](boop) (Jim was very much aware), and yet, the more he tried to correct his behavior, the more awkward everything became. His mind was little more than one giant swirl of emotion and, worse still, the headache that he had banished earlier with his coffee had returned with a vengeance, the constant, throbbing ache a strain on his already fatigued body. With a final sigh, Jim stood, limbs a bit numb and shaky, and began to make his way towards the exit.

"Captain?" Spock called, uncertain.

"I'll see you later, Mr. Spock," Jim replied stiffly, then cursed himself. "I'll be stuck in meetings all afternoon," he offered, turning back to face Spock, "so I'm going to have to miss lunch today." Jim faltered, then took a deep breath. "But I'm free again tomorrow, if you are, as well," he told him, trying to keep the question out of his voice.

There was a pause, and then: "Of course, Captain. I do enjoy our regular mealtimes together."

The easy acquiescence was almost enough to forget his pain, and a smile bloomed on Jim's lips because of it. "Great," he answered, and, a little warmer this time: "I'll see you later, Mr. Spock."

And while it was true that Jim _did_ have an assortment of meetings to attend, his reasoning for heading to San Francisco instead of, say, just returning to his room for a vid-call like his yeoman had suggested ("Really, Captain, it's fine - it's why they assigned me to you, remember? So I could do your legwork.") was more attributed to a bad case of restlessness and, more importantly, a chance to talk to Bones.

"There better be a _damn_ good excuse for waking me up at the crack of dawn," Bones growled when Jim politely (gleefully) buzzed to come up. The screen flicked on and he glowered at Jim. "Jesus, you look worse than I do," Bones muttered. "Come on in."

Jim had barely made contact with the offered chair when Bones was in his face, shining a light in his eyes, swiping a tricorder over him. "Aw hell," he cursed. "Jim, when's the last time you let one of those doctors at the Compound meld with you?"

Jim made a sour face. "I didn't come here to get diagnosed," he told Bones testily. 

"At seven a.m.? Normal people are still in bed at this time, Jim," McCoy snapped; he turned on his heel and stalked to the kitchen, muttering under his breath. A few moments later, he called out, "Now, who the hell would you be botherin' if I'da moved back to Georgia, huh?"

The corner of Jim's mouth twitched. "You love Starfleet too much to move away," he teased.

Bones snorted, returning with a cup of coffee and his medical bag. " _Hardly_. 'More like I can't trust these damn fools to tell a biobed from a medical scanner." He bent forward, jerked up Jim's sleeve, and stabbed a hypo into the meat of Jim's shoulder. "How's that feel?"

Jim pressed a hand to his temple and sighed. "Better, thank you," he murmured. Bones shook his head and stretched out on the couch, nursing his coffee. He looked at Jim expectantly for a few seconds before Jim threw his head back and sighed. "I know, alright? I'm stubborn, I'm an idiot, I need to let people help me every once in awhile - is that what you wanted to hear?”

"How long's it been, Jim?" McCoy asked again, setting his cup down.

Jim inspected his feet. Finally, he said, "The last time you went with me."

It was a good thing he'd set his mug down, because Bones threw his hands up in the air and yelled, " _Jim_. That was over _two weeks ago_. You have to see them, Jim," McCoy continued, a line of tension in his forehead that told Jim just how worried the man really was.

"I _know_ ," Jim snapped back, digging his fingertips into his eyelids; he scrubbed his hands across his face wearily. "I know."

Bones shook his head, retrieving his cup again and taking a sip from it. He sighed. "Well, come on then, out with it." He fixed Jim with a pointed look. "You wouldn't be here at the asscrack of dawn unless it was for something important."

Jim sighed, settling a little more heavily in his chair. Finally, he asked, "Do you think I'm doing the right thing here, Bones?"

" _Hell_ no," Bones snapped; Jim flinched and he rolled his eyes. "What? I get what you and Sarek are trying to do, Jim, but you're _babying_ him - he doesn't need that; not from his parents and _especially_ not from you."

Jim scowled, standing stiffly so he could pace around the room. "Well, what am I supposed to say to him?" he shot back. "How was your day, Mr. Spock? Read any new scientific journals? Oh, by the way, we've been married for thirteen years." Jim directed his glare back at Bones. "Something like that?"

"Where'd your silver tongue go, Mr. Smooth-Talker?" Bones asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Forgot how to take your man out on a date?"

"It's not that," Jim insisted. He ran a hand through his hair and sagged against the wall in exhaustion. "Bones, did you know I'm still listed as a widower in my personnel file?" Bones went very quiet, even as Jim got up and began to pace again. "I looked - I _looked_ when we got back to Earth - and I told them to change it back, that Spock was alive again, and do you know what they told me?" Jim laughed, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "They said that they'd be happy to change it back if we both came in and re-signed our marriage license. Like it was _no big deal_." Jim frowned, a line of tension spreading across his forehead, and he was suddenly somewhere very, very far away; he whispered, "Bones, my husband _died_ and they treated it like it was just a clerical error."

"Well," McCoy asked, softly, quietly, as if Jim were some type of wounded animal, "would you rather they have made a big deal about it?"

"I don't know," Jim answered, heartbreakingly honest; then he turned back to Bones with wide eyes. "Bones, how can I ask Spock to commit to something he doesn't even remember?"

McCoy stood, setting down his mug again, and came over to wrap him up in a hug. Jim buried his face in McCoy's neck and held on tight.

"What if he says no?" Jim asked, voice slightly muffled by the man's shirt collar. "God, Bones, I don't think I could handle another Gol." 

"Alright, hush now," Bones chastised; he gave the man a pat on the back and pulled back. "Jim, _talk to him_. You can't keep going like this. Sarek and the other healers said-"

"I know what they said," Jim snapped again, but there was no real heat behind it, and Bones just raised an eyebrow at him. Jim sighed and scratched a hand through his hair, his face crumpling into a mockery of a smile. "I keep telling myself everything will be fine, but-" he laughed to himself; Jim shook his head and took a deep breath before letting it out in a whoosh. "Well," he said with some false cheer. "I have a meeting to get to. What're you doing later tonight?"

"Sleeping," Bones told him with a glare. "Since _someone_ deemed fit to interrupt my beauty sleep."

Jim grinned. "Bones, you could sleep twelve hours a day and nothing would fix that mug of yours." With a laugh, he sidestepped McCoy's swing and trotted out the door with promises to comm him later.

The skies overhead were grey, with thunder rolling in the distance, the beginnings of a storm beginning to sprinkle the sidewalk below. _Everything will be fine_ , Jim thought again to himself, quickening his pace to a light jog. He ducked under a walkway and dusted the light drizzle off his uniform; Jim checked his watch. He could make the first meeting with five minutes to spare if he hurried.

Jim thought of the promised meeting tomorrow with Spock, and McCoy's urgences to talk to the man. Between the near-constant migraines, Spock's back and forth behavior, and trying to make sure whatever ship they'd be thrown on next was up to snuff, Jim wasn't feeling too optimistic about the whole thing. But Bones had faith everything would turn out alright, and that was enough for Jim.

***

"You are attempting reflex exercises," a voice noted aloud; Spock looked up from his terminal, but his fingers continued the complex motions regardless. "Do you worry about your brain function?"

Spock's eyebrow arched upward and he replied, "It is logical to test one's motor skills periodically. Do you not also perform various tasks to approximate your physical and mental state?"

Taren walked smoothly into the recreation center and, despite the dozen other empty terminals scattered throughout the room, took a seat directly to Spock's left; almost imperceptibly, Spock frowned. Though this was not the first occasion he had seen the young Vulcan, Taren had never before instigated conversation, or even made an attempt to seek out his company (there were, after all, many other, younger Vulcans that Spock normally saw Taren conversing with). It did not bother Spock, per se, for most of the other Vulcans at the Compound tended to give him a wide berth, as well. No, what did... intrigue him, for lack of a better word, was the odd sensation he felt when he _did_ speak to the Vulcans. It was as if there was shared secret between them all, a vital piece of information that Spock could not get to, could not figure out no matter how long or hard he searched.

That specific sensation was becoming more and more commonplace than Spock was particularly comfortable admitting.

 _[Kaiidth](boop)_ , he reminded himself. There was little peace to be had in questioning the motivations of the other Vulcans at the Compound, and dwelling on it would not help him to find the answers he sought. Spock accepted the facts as they were, turned the difficulty settings of his program up by a factor of four, and began to complete the tasks with practiced ease, fingers dancing in the air, twisting geometric shapes, tapping colored lights. There were a few moments of quiet shortly thereafter, and Spock devoted his full attention to his work, finishing the allotted set of tasks before switching to a type of memory test.

However, the silence was apparently not meant to last. Despite Spock's obvious disinterest in continuing a conversation, Taren finished up whatever he was working on and started up his own set of exercises; then he said, almost conversationally, "Captain Kirk does not seem to sleep much. Is he unwell?"

Spock paused, then switched off his program and turned to Taren. Finally, he asked, "Why do you believe the captain to be unwell?"

Taren took his time completing the exercise sets Spock had just finished, and Spock expended a great deal of effort not to let his frustration at the man's seemingly-indifferent attitude get the better of him. When Spock started to wonder if Taren had even heard him in the first place, the young Vulcan turned off his own terminal and regarded Spock carefully, stating, "My mother often speaks to the other healers about his condition, and her concern that he has not been to visit her."

Spock furrowed his eyebrows at that and asked, very cautiously, "His condition?" What type of illness did the captain have that required him to visit Vulcan professionals instead of Human ones? "What is his condition?" Spock continued slowly, his voice steady in a way he did not quite feel. 

Taren cocked his head slightly, the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug. "I do not know, Captain," he replied honestly. "My mother does not discuss doctor-patient privileged information with me." Spock scrutinized Taren a little more closely and the young Vulcan cleared his throat, moving to stand. "Forgive me, Captain Spock," he started with a small bow. "I must leave now if I am to make it to my afternoon classes on time."

At the door, Taren hesitated, turning back to Spock and offering the ta'al. "I wish you and Captain Kirk well, sir. Live long and prosper."

Spock replicated the gesture, his own "Peace and long life," barely on his lips before he'd turned back to his terminal.

Spock suddenly had many more questions that needed answering.

***

"Message on your private terminal, Captain," his yeoman chirped when Jim popped out to sign some extra forms hanging out in his office. "It's from Dr. McCoy," Tran continued, handing Jim a cup of coffee ("Nectar of the gods," Jim groaned), "so I thought you'd want to check it out before heading back inside."

Jim grinned. "Thank you, Kenneth. I'll join you all in just a minute." Tran departed with a little skip in his step as Jim settled into his chair, flipping on the terminal to check his inbox.

 _Jim_ , the message read. _Gotta bottle of brandy with our names on it. Tomorrow night at 8? -Len_

A smaller, softer smile curled over Jim's lips and he typed back, _I never turn down a good drink, Bones. See you then._

"Sir." Tran poked his head in with a sheepish grin. "I'm sorry, but they decided to start it early."

"Whoops," Jim said with a laugh. "I should probably get in there, then, shouldn't I?" He stood, stretching the kinks out of his spine, and grimaced when one of his vertebrae cracked none-too-gently. "Damn," he muttered as he rubbed at the sore spot. "Don't get old, Kenneth," he told his yeoman tightly. "It's not very enjoyable."

Tran choked on a laugh, and then he said, "I'd hardly call you 'old', sir."

"That's right," Jim teased as he followed the man out, "keep flattering me." Another headache was beginning to build behind his eyelids, and Jim cursed another lost meditation opportunity. 

Yes, a night in with his best friend would definitely help.

***

It took little less than an hour to get ahold of his father, yet to Spock, the time seemed to crawl on like years, each tick of the antique clock in the room a grate on his nerves. When the call connected, Spock raised his hand in the ta'al, which Sarek mirrored with a slight nod.

"Son," Sarek greeted. "Is there something the matter?"

Spock's lips pursed slightly of their own accord; he took a breath and schooled his features back to neutral. He replied, "I am uncertain, Father." Sarek watched his son, silent, face blank, and Spock sighed again. "You spent a great deal of time with Captain Kirk while we were on Vulcan," he recalled.

"This is correct," Sarek agreed, his eyes suddenly much sharper.

Spock knew it was foolish to wait for his father to volunteer any type of information, so he continued with, "Were you aware of any illness he may have contracted there? Or perhaps on Genesis, or the Klingon vessel they restored?"

Sarek blinked, and Spock knew at once he'd hit something valuable. Sarek was quiet for a few moments, and then he said, "The Captain did not come into contact with any disease. Why do you ask this?"

"You took him to visit the healers on Vulcan quite often," Spock reminded him (as if Sarek had forgotten), "and he has seen the healers here at the Compound; yet his medical records show no evidence of any treatment he may or may not have received, here or on Vulcan."

His father regarded him evenly, one eyebrow raised; he asked, "You have accessed Captain Kirk's medical records?"

The question was neither judgmental nor accusing; nevertheless, Spock felt no small amount of shame bubble in his stomach. "I made an inquiry," Spock replied. "I apparently am allowed access to Captain Kirk's medical files." Another question that should have been an answer, Spock noted internally. What was his captain's reasoning for it? Had Spock given Jim the same courtesy, as well?

Sarek nodded. "I see," he simply said. "Have you asked the captain himself?"

Spock frowned at that. "Communicating with Captain Kirk is... difficult," he admitted. "The Human concept of 'smalltalk' is something I have not quite mastered."

"I have not suggested smalltalk," Sarek told him. "I have suggested a meaningful conversation between you and Captain Kirk. There is a difference between the two types of interaction."

"I do not..." Spock fumbled for the words to express himself. How was he to explain to him the perturbing maelstrom of emotions associated with James T. Kirk? How one moment, Spock felt as if there were no place he'd rather be than at Kirk's side, but in the next moment he was left dizzy, sweating with the near-animal urge to flee and hide? It made no sense and, worse still, seemed to accomplish little more than hurting his captain and long-time friend. "Perhaps you are right," he said eventually, half-buried memories niggling at his conscious mind. "I will speak with Captain Kirk. Thank you, Father."

Sarek blinked again, and Spock had the distinct impression that Sarek was going to tell him something important ( _limbs stretched, claws extended, a jaw snapped back in a wide yawn_ ), but then his father merely nodded and said, "Live long and prosper, my son."

"Live long and prosper, Father," Spock echoed.

***

Jim left the office late that night, pain crawling into the base of his skull and making a nest there. Twice on the ride back to the Compound, his yeoman had asked if he was alright, and even the driver looked like he was having his suspicions.

"I'm fine," Jim insisted. "Really."

And yet, despite his claims, Jim was very much _not fine_. His hands trembled when he reached for the car door and, more than once, Jim found himself in the wrong corridor, dazed and confused and practically falling against the walls.

When Jim did finally manage to stumble his way to his quarters, the corners of his vision were greying, legs shaking, hands sweating. His knees crumpled more than folded to the meditation mat before him, fingers stumbling over the flint to light his incense. Jim hissed out a tight breath. "Pull yourself together, man," he told himself in a decent imitation of Bones. "Gather." Jim inhaled deeply through his nose. He pulled his spine up straight; he jerked his shoulders into place and folded his hands in front of him. _Hold_. The physical response could not be completely overcome, but it could be tempered - the mental, the _emotional_ response, that is what could be controlled, what could be regulated. Jim's jaw was sore, his eyes and throat heavy with feeling, but he stubbornly held it back. Now was not yet the time. "Release," Jim whispered on a sigh. A harsh sob racked his body, clawed its way out of his throat even as the first tears began to fall. It hurt. Everything hurt, but Jim persisted regardless. Sleep would not come for a while yet.

_Gather. Hold. Release._

***

_Spock was dying._

 _Jim couldn't move, couldn't_ breathe _; there were shards of glass in his throat and in his eyes and shredding his insides. He pressed himself against the pane of glass that separated them and wished to God he could trade places with him, wished to every deity in every religion from every planet he'd ever visited. "_ Spock _!" he cried, because Jim was dying, too._

_"Ship..." Spock rasped quietly, and Jim strained his ears to hear every syllable, willed his eyes to burn the image of Spock in his brain forever. "Out of danger?"_

_"Yes," Jim whispered, desperate to keep his voice from breaking, because_ of course _Spock would ask that._

_Spock shook his head. "Don't grieve, Admiral," he told him, and he was looking at Jim but his eyes were dead, burned out of his skull; he said, "It is logical," and Jim wanted to take that stupid word and beat Spock over the head with it, wanted to banish it from the databanks, from every dictionary in the galaxy. "The needs of the many... outweigh..." Spock began to twitch, and he stopped for a moment, his breath ragged._

_"The needs of the few," Jim finished for him. Spock nodded, and misery consumed Jim, swallowed him whole._

_"Or the one," Spock reminded him; he started to slide, but caught himself, and admitted, "I never took the Kobayashi Maru test until now. What do you think of my solution?"_

_"Spock," Jim whispered again. Spock, you idiot; Spock, I hate, you; Spock,_ don't leave me _. Spock fell, and Jim fell with him._

_"I have been, and always shall be, your friend," Spock said then; he pressed his hand against the glass and it was spread in the ta'al, and he said, "Live long and prosper."_

__Damn you _, Jim thought brokenly,_ damn you to _hell. Grief hollowed out his insides and Jim pressed his hand to the glass, as close as he could fit it to Spock's, and he'd never felt a stronger, more selfish urge -_ Let them all die _, he thought viciously._ I would let them all die for one moment more with you - to hold you in my arms one more time _._

_But Jim was not selfish, and he was not cruel. He watched as Spock turned away from him, watched as the life left his husband's body._

_"No," Jim said aloud._

__

"We had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way." – Charles Dickens

***

Jim woke, bile already in the base of his throat, and barely had time to turn on his side before he vomited, the pungent taste of sick stinging the inside of his nose and mouth. He gasped, shaking violently on unsteady arms, and had just enough strength to hobble his way to the restroom before the next wave of nausea hit him. This couldn't go on. Bones was right: he needed to see a healer, and badly. He would call one, he promised himself - just as soon as the feeling returned to his legs.

However, the dread of his nightmare would not leave him, and Jim felt tears burning behind his eyes despite himself. "Computer," he stuttered. "Raise lights to thirty percent." He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Put in a call to Captain Spock."

***

Though Spock had not been asleep, it was still a bit of a surprise to hear the chirp of his terminal receiving an incoming call. He stood, padding over to his desk, and noted the caller. Spock flipped the switch immediately, and Jim Kirk's face flashed on the screen.

"Spock," he croaked; though he smiled, Spock could at once tell there was something very, very wrong with the man. Jim shook his head with a little laugh. "I'm sorry, I know it's late, but-" He faltered then, gaze darting off to the side. "How are you?" he asked quietly.

Spock searched Jim's face, his eyes. Finally, he said, "I am well, Jim. How are you?"

The question was superfluous, but it still dawned a bright light in Jim's eyes. "I'm- I'm okay," he said suddenly; he chuckled. "I'm sorry, Spock, I shouldn't have called-"

 _No_ , Spock thought despite himself. A fierce protectiveness welled up inside of him. "On the contrary," he said aloud. "I have been... thinking. I am glad you are awake. Would it be alright to come over? To- talk?"

"What?" Jim blinked, and then he started. He blurted, "Yes! Yes, of course! Um, hold on-" He disappeared offscreen for a moment and Spock caught a flash of collarbone.

Spock hesitated, his heart jittery in his side, and then: "If it would be a bother-"

Jim reappeared, a robe wrapped tightly around his frame. "Spock," he laughed. "You are _always_ welcome here." His eyes softened. "Come on over."

The walk was short, but quiet, and Spock had barely raised his hand to knock when the door slid open, apparently keyed to receive his entry. Spock entered, and Jim stepped out of the bathroom, a toothbrush stuffed in his mouth. The strong scent of cleaning solutions was thick in the air.

"Sorry," he mumbled sheepishly around his toothbrush, "morning breath. Be right back." Jim darted back in the bathroom, and the sound of running water greeted Spock's ears shortly thereafter.

Spock clasped his hands behind his back and turned back to inspect the room, his eyes glancing over the rumpled sheets, the damp spot on the carpet. Spock's lips pursed; he shot a glance at the closed bathroom door, then bent over to inspect the floor. He pressed two fingers to the carpet, a frown spreading over his lips when no answer readily presented itself. A condition, Taren had said. It was becoming more and more apparent that something was the matter, and yet no one was willing to give him a straight answer. His Captain was obviously ill. The Vulcans at the Compound behaved strangely around him, yet not because of any prejudice. And his _memories_. Why had they not returned? Were these things all connected? What was he _missing_?

_It paced, and stalked, and climbed the walls. "Are you sure you wish to know, Spock?" it hissed. "You may find that having is not so pleasing a thing, after all, as wanting."_

Pain began to bloom behind Spock's eyelids and he pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. He stood then, hands braced on his upper thighs, and a glint of light caught his attention. There was a picture frame on the nightstand; Spock, almost unconsciously, reached out to it.

"Sorry about that," Jim said suddenly, one hand coming around to gently turn the frame face down. He smiled up at Spock, a tired thing, and swept a hand over to his living area. "Can I get you anything to drink?" he asked, padding over to the replicator. "Tea?"

Spock shook his head. "I am fine, thank you."

Jim nodded, grabbing a cup of tea for himself, and made his way to the loveseat, curling in the corner. His eyes flickered to the empty spot beside him, and then he waved his hand at the chair across from him. "Well, come on, then," Jim grinned. "Sit down."

Spock followed, taking the offered seat, and took very careful note of the way Jim's hands trembled, how he merely held his cup instead of drinking from it. Spock, by nature, was not one to touch without permission (not many Vulcans were); yet for some unfathomable reason, Spock longed to reach out and take the cup from him, to wrap his arms around the Human and hold tight. Was this his Human half grasping out at straws (for something to cement him to this Earth he chose)? Or was it something else - something more? As he continued his introspection, Spock found he could not tear his eyes away from the man before him. He wondered then: Was the image of a sleep-tousled Jim that he could suddenly see in his mind's eye, clear as day, a memory? Or just the product of wishful thinking?

_It laughed, a rich sound, and its voice slid into Spock, into the darkest parts of him. "You would wish for that," it mocked as it touched his face with tender hands. "My[ashayam](boop)," it sang._

"Um," Jim said abruptly, squirming under the scrutiny; Spock looked up and Jim's lips quirked in a slightly bashful grin. "Is anything the matter?" he asked with a laugh.

_It grasped at him, clung to his skin, burrowed in his bones-_

Spock met Jim's eyes, locked onto them with such an intensity that it startled him, and asked, carefully, cautiously, "Jim - you would tell me if something were wrong, would you not?"

Jim went very, very still. He whispered, "Spock-"

The door chimed and Jim's head snapped up. "Damn it," he muttered, setting down his cup and making his way across the room. "T'Mena," Jim greeted with a sigh. "Hi. Come in."

A Vulcan woman about a decade Spock's senior stepped in the room. Her eyes met Spock's and she blinked. "Should I return later?" she asked, turning back to Jim.

"No, um." Jim cleared his throat and shot Spock an apologetic look. "Do you mind if we talk more tomorrow? At lunch?" he asked hopefully.

Something sour hit the back of Spock's throat. He nodded, stood, and said, "Of course, Captain," as he passed.

"Spock," Jim called weakly.

Spock faltered at the doorway. "I will see you tomorrow, Jim," he acquiesced, then ducked out the door.

***

"Forgive me," T'Mena murmured after Spock had left. "It was not my intention to make the two of you uncomfortable with my presence."

"No, it's fine," Jim insisted wearily, pressing a hand to his face. "I called you. Sorry if I sound less than enthused about this whole thing."

"Your hesitance is understandable, given the circumstances," T'Mena replied. There was a pause, and then: "I take this privacy to mean you have still not informed Captain Spock of your broken bond?"

Jim blinked suddenly, his eyes wide and glossy. "No," he confessed quietly. "I don't... I don't want him to offer to fix it for me because he feels obligated to. You said that he doesn't have any remnants of his old bond, right?" Jim shakily asked; a smile that looked anything but found its way to Jim's face. "Then I'm the only one it's bothering."

"I inspected his mind when he arrived here," T'Mena confirmed. "His physical mind is new, yes; though if you recall," she continued with an arched brow, "I also theorized his katra would seek the familiarity of yours, would seek to heal the broken fragments of your bond. I also," and T'Mena shot him a sharp glare then, "find your use of the term 'bothering' to be grossly understated. Your condition is far more critical than a mere annoyance."

"Now I remember why I haven't gone to see you all," Jim muttered under his breath; the Vulcan shot him a death stare and Jim said, "Look, I know, alright? But I also know that _you_ know Spock's telepathy isn't what it was before the re-fusion. Sarek doesn't think Spock could handle the strain, even if he did know about it."

"Sarek's logic is not impartial where his son is concerned," T'Mena rebuffed. "Neither is yours."

"Well, I'm sorry that I'm not a _Vulcan_ ," Jim snapped. "I'm a Human, and I let my emotions get the better of me from time to time."

T'Mena pursed her lips. "That you are Human is irrelevant," she stated. "The problem is that you do not see reason where your husband is concerned."

"He's not my husband anymore," Jim hissed, "or didn't you see the obituary?"

" _Kirk_." T'Mena's eyes burned. "I will not stand here and be insulted. You will hear my professional opinions or I will leave and bring another healer. Perhaps you would like to enter in a mind meld with Sirahli again?"

Fear clawed at Jim's insides. "No," he insisted, shaking his head. All the fight left him in a rush, and Jim had to lean against the wall so he would not fall. "No," he repeated softly. "I'm sorry."

With a sigh, she said, "You are in pain and under stress. I understand, if I don't approve." T'Mena nodded with finality, then gestured for him to sit. "Come now, let us begin." Jim moved back to the loveseat and T'Mena sat beside him, her fingers easily locking to Jim's meld points. "My mind to your mind," she whispered. "My thoughts to your thoughts."

Jim's face crumpled in pain and he clung to her wrists. "No, don't-"

"You must let me in," T'Mena urged soothingly.

"I'm trying," he whimpered; he grit his teeth together. "I can't-"

"Pain is of the mind," T'Mena said. "Pain can be controlled. You are stronger than your pain."

Jim wept, and fell apart in her arms.

***

Kenneth popped in at around eight the next morning, and he'd barely been in the room two seconds before he pulled out his PADD, saying, "I'll cancel your morning meetings, sir."

"No-" Jim's voice cracked pitifully and he coughed to clear his throat. "I'm fine," he insisted, moving to stand, albeit shakily. 

"They're just discussing the refit this morning," Kenneth said with a wave. "I'll sit in for you; Captain Scott will still be there, as well." He tapped a few things out, then turned to Jim with a raised eyebrow. "I've got this, sir."

Jim deflated with a sigh. "Alright," he agreed. "Alright. Thank you, Kenneth."

His yeoman nodded, then pocketed his PADD; he beamed and said, "Have a good rest, sir. I'll be back around lunchtime to give you an up-to-date schedule for the afternoon."

Tran's smile was infectious, and Jim was pleased to return the favor with a faint grin of his own. "Yes, alright," he replied, already moving to lie back down.

With one final nod, Tran departed, and Jim closed his eyes wearily, digging the heel of his palms into his eyes. "God, what am I doing?" he asked aloud, and moved to bury his face in the sheets.

Sleep, when it finally did come, was fitful, and his dreams provided no answers.

***

_Captain_ , the message read. _I am afraid I have some time-sensitive experiments to deal with in the lab, and will be unable to attend our preappointed lunch today. Perhaps we can reschedule. Regards, Spock._

 _Experiments_. "My ass," Jim muttered, tamping down the urge to throw his cup of coffee across the room. "You're not getting off that easy," he said then, and pulled up a new window to reply.

 _Spock_ , he tapped out. _Sorry to hear it. What are you working on?_

The reply came almost immediately, and Jim snorted at the sight of it. _It is complex - I would not wish to bore you with the details, Captain_.

 _Spock, we're married_ , Jim typed with shaky fingers. _Spock, I'm slowly going insane. Spock,_ talk to me.

In the end, the message Jim sent back simply said, _Alright. Tomorrow?_

Tran arrived with an armful of PADDs and Jim sighed, cracking a grin. "They were just talking about the refit, were they?" he asked, amused.

His yeoman looked slightly embarrassed. "There might have been a discussion or two about cost control and crew assignment. And Dr. Taylor may have commed with a few updates on George and Gracie."

Jim's eyes lit up. "Did she?" he mused, grabbing for that tablet first. Behind him, his terminal chirped with an incoming message. "I should give her a call sometime."

"Subspace frequency's down at the bottom," Kenneth said; he grinned. "Your next meeting isn't for another thirty minutes; should I leave so you and Captain Spock can have something to eat?"

He would know about their little lunch dates. Jim sighed softly, his own smile wilting a bit. "Captain Spock has other obligations this afternoon," he said with a little shrug; Jim pulled his best game face and turned on the charm. "What about you, Kenneth? Feel like having a meal with an old, washed-up captain?"

"Sir!" Tran gasped, mortified. He shook his head and exclaimed, "You're not old or washed up - _honestly_."

Jim bit back a laugh. "Do you like It-" He cut himself off abruptly; Kenneth tilted his head and shot a questioning look Jim's way. "How do you feel about Indian?" he asked, and turned his attention to the replicator.

***

Vitu1 examined the way Spock sat, fingers steepled, eyes riveted to the terminal screen, and said, "If there are other matters you must attend to, Captain, you are welcome to leave."

Spock blinked and stood, coming around to the station the other Vulcan was working at. "Forgive me," he said with a bow. "I did not mean to show you offense."

"There is no offense where none is taken," Vitu replied; he handed Spock the latest sheet of results and ticked off a long string of equations, his gaze never leaving the glass beaker before him. There was a moment of internal deliberation, and then Vitu remarked, "I admit, though, I experienced some surprise at your request to join me this morning."

Spock raised one eyebrow. "We have worked together before."

"Perhaps," Vitu arched his eyebrow to match, "but not usually for something so trivial as this, and never during normal meal times."

Spock turned his attention to the data sheets, a small line of tension appearing in his forehead. When he had verified the conclusions, Spock moved to start up his own experiment, assembling burners and beakers in an orderly fashion.

"I have offended you," Vitu said.

"There is no offense where none is taken," Spock parroted back with a smooth arch of his brow. "Your logic is based on faulty premises," Spock continued then, "for I am not upset, and there is no displeasure to be had in the truth."

"Ah." Vitu twisted the dial, watching the flame shrivel to the size of a pebble, then asked to the nearly-empty room, "I wonder - what is truth?"

 _"Do you smell that?" it whispered as it slithered, claws clicking against the tile. It sang, "You're_ burning _."_

Spock raised an eyebrow, but did not turn away from his setup. "Elaborate," he requested, and smoke began to fill his lungs.

Vitu traced a thin line down the table with a fingertip, then brought it up to examine the dust that was not there. "Is truth merely what we can see and touch," he continued lightly, "or is it something more malleable? A definition that changes based upon our own preconceptions?"

Spock frowned and finally turned to face Vitu. "Speak plainly, Vitu," he said.

Vitu rubbed his thumb across his fingertips, as if still checking for some sort of foreign substance. Black, thick like ink, dripped and poured and coated him from head to foot. His hands hissed steam, turned to soot and crumbled. "What do you believe to be truth, Spock?" the Vulcan replied as fire licked the walls. "And what of those truths have you accepted because you refused to challenge your preconceptions?"

_Ash rained down from the sky and it danced, lips spreading open, tongue darting out to catch the flames. "I never took the Kobayashi Maru - until now," it mused. Coal-colored eyes glittered like beacons through the smoke. "What do you think of my solution?"_

"Pardon," Vitu said abruptly, turning off his burner completely and beginning to clean up his workstation. "I have just remembered an appointment I have with Doctor Sirahli."

Spock stood there, alone in the lab, for a very long time.

***

There was a brief, twenty-minute gap around three o'clock between meetings, so Jim took the opportunity to slip over to a cafe a few blocks from the Compound and shove a sandwich in his mouth before another five hours of hell. When he got there, however, a familiar face gave him pause, and Jim beamed, waving overhead and calling, "Commander Uhura!"

Uhura turned, her lips pulling back in a grin, and she raised her hand in a three-fingered wave of her own. "Captain," she said warmly when he'd jogged up. "How are you?"

"Just another day at Starfleet," Jim quipped. "Meetings, meetings, and oh, did I mention meetings?"

She snorted ("How unladylike!" Jim chastised, and Uhura cuffed him lightly on the shoulder), shuffling the PADD she'd been reading into her purse and turning her full attention back to him. "How've you been adjusting back to life in San Francisco? Wait, no - you moved into the Vulcan Compound with Mr. Spock, didn't you?" Uhura's eyes softened. "How are the two of you doing? How is Mr. Spock adjusting?"

Jim faltered, hiding it behind a cough. "Ah, to tell you the truth, Uhura-" She sobered at that, as if she could tell Jim was about to divulge something very important, and Jim sighed. "We're not... doing that well. It's my fault, I just- He." Jim scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration. "I'm sorry, I just feel silly going to everyone else with my problems."

Uhura looked around, then gestured them both over to a cluster of lounge chairs by the side wall. "Captain," she started softly. "Jim," she corrected. "I have known you - all of you - for many, many years. We faced so many things out there in space - things that would've broken other people - and you kept us together when we would've fallen apart otherwise. I put my career on the line for you and Mr. Spock, so believe me when I tell you that nothing - absolutely _nothing_ \- is off-limits between us." She reached out then and clasped her hands, cold from the office, tight around his own. "If I can help you, sir," Uhura told him fiercely, " _let me_."

Jim's grip tightened in hers and he took a deep breath. "You always did have a way with words," he chuckled weakly, eyes twinkling. "Thank you," he told her; Jim inhaled sharply again. "I don't know what to do, Uhura," he confessed. "On Vulcan, I-" Jim blinked, turning away suddenly and coughing again. "You know," he whispered. He shook his head. "Bones says I should tell Spock everything and- and let him decide for himself. And I agree with him, I _do_ , but..." Jim hung his head, ashamed. "I'm terrified. Terrified he'll say no; terrified he'll _leave_ \- Uhura, he's been so-" He let out a small growl of frustration. "One minute, it's like nothing had changed - like he's the Spock I know and love and spent the last decade of my life with. But then other times, it's like a switch has been flipped - he's cold, shut off from me. He's so different. _I'm_ so different. When Spock died, I-" Jim's throat began to close.

Uhura looked up at him, and whispered, "Take your time."

Eventually, Jim managed to regain control of his vocal chords, and murmured hoarsely, "So much has happened. What if this second chance really isn't a second chance at all?" Jim's gaze dropped to the floor. "What if we can't go back to what we were?"

Uhura paused for a moment, lost in contemplation, and then she said, "With all due respect, sir - that is a load of bull." Jim started, looking up at her incredulously. She gave him a stern look. "God help me if you ever tell anyone about this, but there was a time - _once_ , a long time ago - when I had a bit of a crush on Mr. Spock."

" _No_." Jim's jaw dropped, and he couldn't quite stifle the giggle that burst from his lips. "Really?"

Uhura pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. Then she sighed. "One time I asked him to tell me what Vulcan looks like when the moon is full-"

"Vulcan-" Jim started with a laugh.

"Has no moon, I know," Uhura shot back with an affected glare. "That's what he told me." Her cheeks colored slightly, and her lips twitched in an effort to hold back her grin. "You can see how well that worked out for me. But you two," and she sighed dreamily, allowing herself to finally smile, "there's always been something special between you and Mr. Spock - a connection of some sorts. You're right - you've both been through a lot. You're worried about Spock's feelings. You're worried about your own. However," Uhura caught his gaze again, her eyes sharp, serious, "you wouldn't tell me these things unless you were absolutely certain of your own feelings. You wouldn't do all this for Spock if you didn't _love_ him. And Jim." She reached up suddenly, grabbing his face as if to stop him from looking away, but there was no force in the galaxy that could shake his attention from Uhura now. "You've got to ask yourself," Uhura told him. "What are the odds that, out of everybody else - his father, his friends, all the other Vulcans - he remembered _you_?"

_"Jim. Your name... is Jim."_

_"Yes."_

Jim blinked back raw emotion, pulling her hands from his face so he could kiss her knuckles. "Uhura, I love you," he rasped. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she warmly replied. "Don't be scared, Jim - you are where you're meant to be."

"Such a smart woman. Damn, I should've married you," Jim joked with a little laugh. He pressed the heel of his hand to a bit of moisture in his eye.

"You watch it, Mister," Uhura warned lightly. "I've got a purse full of PADDs, and I'm not afraid to use them."

Jim laughed again and his communicator went off, shrieking in his pocket. "Oh, _hell_ ," he cursed, checking the time. "I should've been in my meeting ten minutes ago."

Uhura smirked. "You're already late, sir," she drawled. "Might as well stop and get something to eat before you go."

***

Gather. Hold. _Release_.

The breath left his lungs in a whoosh, and Spock fought to center himself. There would be side-effects, the healers had warned. One could not yank a soul from its host, stuff it in a holding place, and attempt to put it all back without repercussions. Hallucinations of the visual and auditory (and perhaps even olfactory, one had theorized) senses were to be expected. His body and mind needed to reacclimate themselves. As long as Spock recognized what was real and what was not, they informed him, there was no cause for alarm.

"I know what is real," Spock stuttered, and the flesh peeled back from his face. "I am in control."

***

"Jim," Bones greeted with a wide smile; he ushered the other man in and settled into his favorite armchair before leaning over and pouring out a generous glass of brandy for Jim. McCoy's own glass was already on his side table, a thick layer of condensation built up around the base.

"Starting without me?" Jim laughed, curling into his corner of the couch. He grabbed his glass, took a small sip, and sighed. "I'm beginning to remember why exactly I hated having a desk job," he said then. "Everything is meetings and forms and number crunching. I'm beginning to see payroll equations in my sleep," Jim joked.

"Speaking of," McCoy announced, reaching over the side of his armchair and into his medical bag. With a hypo in one hand and his drink in the other, McCoy crossed over to the couch and plopped down, tilting the man's face up so he could administer the medication at the junction of Jim's neck and shoulder. "Let me know if moving the injection site here works better or worse than in your shoulder," he requested (demanded, more like).

McCoy's thumb brushed the still sensitive patch of skin, softly, tenderly, and Jim nearly cried at the contact. _Spock used to touch my neck like that_ , he thought as he fought to control his expression.

"Jim," Bones murmured, low in his throat, and Jim had a sudden flash of McCoy, sitting at the science station aboard the _Enterprise_ , speaking in a voice that wasn't his own. Tension tightened the air around them, and Jim swallowed.

"Bones-" he started thickly.

The moment broke, and McCoy pulled away. Seemingly satisfied, Bones turned back to his drink and sighed. "Figured out what you're going to say to Spock yet?" he asked, shooting him a suspicious glare.

Jim stared for a moment. Had he just imagined it? Bones looked at him expectantly, and Jim shook himself. He _had_ to have imagined it. "Oh my _God_ ," he finally laughed, clasping his hands together to hide the fine tremor in them. "It's been what, twenty-four hours? Some of us have to work, you know."

"Yeah, yeah," Bones drawled lazily. "Don't forget I know you, Jim. I let you alone long enough and you'll squirrel back into your martyrdom and not actually talk to that green-blooded fool."

"I'm working up to it!" Jim made a little face at McCoy, bumping him lightly with his shoulder. "I saw Uhura today, you know," Jim told him. "You'll be pleased to know she shares your opinion that I should talk to Spock."

Bones rolled his eyes. "Finally, someone who shares my infinite wisdom."

"Infinite? Hardly." Jim shook his head fondly. "I'll talk to him soon- tomorrow! I'll talk to him tomorrow." Bones raised a skeptical eyebrow at him and Jim held up a hand. "I'll talk to him tomorrow - promise." Uhura's words from earlier that day came back to him in a flash, and almost immediately, a wave of calm washed over Jim, and he smiled despite himself.

Maybe everything would be alright, after all.

***

The call came early, just as Spock had finished his morning meditation. He stared at the screen, then his hands, and marvelled when they did not burn or peel. Spock touched his face, and his skin was as it ever was. He connected the call, and Jim's face flashed on screen.

"Spock!" he said with a grin. He looked tired, but determined, and he plowed on with, "I'm sorry, I know it's early, but I've got a meeting in about-" Jim turned to check the time, "-six minutes, and I wanted to call you first. You wanna switch it up today for lunch? I was thinking of the vegan restaurant downtown."

His eyebrow twitched in surprise, and Spock knew with a sudden certainty that Jim would not take no for an answer. Spock inclined his head in a small nod. "That would be agreeable, Jim," he replied, and Jim glowed.

_Joints popped and slid, shifting underneath the skin. It blinked, and_

Spock shoved it down. _I am in control_. Outloud, he said: "I wish to apologize to you, Jim." Jim looked up, a little wrinkle appearing between his brows, a question on his face. Spock's heart rate increased. "I was not fair to you yesterday," he continued, biting back the sharp sting of shame in his throat.

Jim blinked, and then compassion washed over his face like an ocean's wave. "Spock," he whispered. "It's okay."

"It is not," Spock disagreed with a shake of his head. _You have been so patient, Jim, in regards to my current state_ , he thought to himself. Too patient, one might even argue. "We did not have a chance to talk yesterday," Spock continued then, a note of lightness creeping into his voice, his chest twisting into knots, "so perhaps we could remedy the situation at lunch?"

"That would be-" Jim stumbled a bit; he cleared his throat, "great," Jim finished quietly, almost to himself, a silly little grin on his face. He met Spock's eyes again and a voice from offscreen (Yeoman Kenneth Tran, Spock's mind supplied) suddenly said, "Captain, I'm sorry, but-"

"Duty calls," Jim apologized with another softer, sweeter smile. "See you at noon, Spock."

***

"Captain," Tran whispered apologetically at Jim's side; Jim started out of his stupor and turned his head slightly towards Kenneth with a raised brow. "I'm so sorry, but you have an incoming call from Vulcan - she said it was an emergency."

"An emergency?" Jim whispered, holding up a hand to the face on the other side of the screen. "She?"

"Your mother-in-law," Kenneth explained, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth. "I didn't ask what it was about, I'm sorry-"

"No, no, you're fine," Jim insisted; he turned back to his terminal and said, "I'm so sorry, ladies and gentlemen - you'll have to continue without me."

"I'll turn on the feed in my rooms," Kenneth told him, and Jim nodded.

"My yeoman will be sitting in and taking notes for me," Jim confirmed. "I'll see you all later." He turned to Tran and handed him the PADD he'd been recording the session with. "Thank you, Kenneth."

"I hope everything is alright, sir," Tran said on his way out.

It was little more than pressing a button to get to the right frequency, but Jim found his heart rate skyrocketing anyway. "Amanda, what's wrong?" he near-gasped when the call connected.

"Hmm?" Amanda looked up from whatever she had been studying and laughed brightly. "Oh, Jim, dear, nothing's wrong. How are you feeling today? Have you been meditating?" Her eyes searched his and, whatever she found, she didn't seem to like. "Have you been making regular appointments with the healers?" she asked.

"What?" Jim deflated a bit, his face screwing up in confusion. "My yeoman said that-"

Amanda made a face and waved her hand in the air. "He said you were in a meeting; how else was I going to get you out? I'm not a young girl anymore - I can't stay up all night waiting for you to be free to talk."

"I-" Jim gaped; he tried again, sputtering out a, " _You_ -"

She smirked. "Jim Kirk, I am the Vulcan Ambassador's _wife_. I have to use my diplomatic powers _somehow_." Amanda sat up then, moving closer to the screen, and peered over at Jim. "Sarek said he spoke to Spock," she started bluntly, "that Spock called and asked if you were ill."

Jim froze, then quietly asked, "What did Sarek tell him?"

"That the two of you should talk," Amanda replied; she raised an eyebrow. "I take it that did not go well?"

"Did he?" Jim let out a hollow laugh. "We haven't talked," he admitted in a whisper. _Yet_ , he reminded himself. They hadn't talked _yet_. "I almost told him about the bond the other day, but I- it's complicated."

Amanda frowned at that, as if she weren't quite ready to let it go, but wasn't willing to push the subject, either. "Sarek told me that he could feel your discomfort," she said then in a rapid change of subject, sympathy filling her gaze. "I can see he was right - he's much more sensitive to changes in the familial bond than I am, but I'm better when it comes to reading facial cues. So, come on," Amanda made another little hand gesture, "out with it. Have you been to see the healers?"

Jim opened his mouth to fib, but one stern look from her, and Jim admitted softly, "A few times."

Amanda sighed, a sad thing. "Jim," she started. "What Sarek did for you, it... it was supposed to be a temporary fix - it wasn't meant to be permanent thing."

Jim closed his eyes briefly, centering himself. "I know," he whispered. "I- I don't like them in my head."

Amanda hesitated, and then: "I understand how you must, feel, dear," she told him. "I cannot even imagine what you are going through - what you've had to endure these past months. But you must understand, if you don't make a decision soon, the damage will be irreparable. There are certain things you can't come back from."

"I don't want to sever it," Jim confessed, hot, tight emotion welling up in the back of his throat. "It's been a part of me for over a decade, Amanda, I don't know what I-" he swallowed, "-what I would do if-"

Amanda closed her eyes, and a small wrinkle appeared between her brows. Whatever emotion she was feeling, it was completely concealed by the time she opened them again. "Jim, we are talking about your well-being, your _life_. In what universe would Spock want you to put yourself through this?"

An unidentifiable noise wrenched its way from Jim's throat and the stern look on Amanda's face crumpled. She blinked rapidly, turning away from the screen, and calling, "Husband - please talk some sense into your son-in-law."

Sarek appeared onscreen and took in Jim's red, blotchy face, his tired eyes, the lines across his forehead that hadn't been there four months ago. Eventually, he stated, "It would be a mistake for the both of you to attempt to reinstate your bond at this time."

" _Sarek_!" Amanda gasped somewhere offscreen, horrified.

Sarek turned (presumably) in her direction. "Wife," he said softly, "they are, neither of them, up to this task. Captain Kirk's mind is brittle at present, and our son lacks the years of mental training he once had. What would happen if Spock tried to repair his bonded's mental link and failed? Are you prepared to deal with the consequences of those actions? Our son is recovering his memories, yes," Sarek continued, "but does he yet have the control to harness in the emotions these new memories will bring?"

"Sarek, he cannot go on like this!" Amanda snapped. "Neither of them can."

The sound abruptly stopped, as if the audio feed had been cut, and it took Jim a minute to realize they had internalized the conversation. His migraine was coming back again, and Jim resisted the urge to lay his head down on the table. He had more meetings to attend (he was _still_ supposed to be in one); he had papers to sign and forms to fill out and requisitions to file and appeals to send in and-

"Captain Kirk." Jim looked up and Sarek inclined his head briefly. "We are coming to Earth," Sarek continued. "Expect us within the next fortnight."

"Pardon?" Jim asked, settling a hand against his temple.

"The Human propensity to stubbornness," (Amanda, still offscreen, snorted) "though predictable, has left me with little choice," Sarek told him.

"Sarek, no," Jim said, shaking his head. "Please, don't make the trip out here just for me-"

"My son-in-law is ill," Sarek stated, "and it would be foolish for me not to come to his aid. If it is your wish to mend the bond with our son, then I will attempt to assist the process so that it causes the least trauma possible," Sarek explained. "Is this your wish?"

Jim opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't make the words come out.

***

Spock had remained deep in meditation for three point eight hours before he felt strong enough to stand, to open his eyes and see the incense burner before him for what it was, and not the half-twisted apparition of a nightmare. He felt better - refreshed, even - and when he retrieved a cup of tea from the replicator, it tasted as it was supposed to.

Progress - _finally_. Spock crossed back to his meditation mat, smothered the fire of his asenoi with a handful of sand. He ground the smoking stick of incense against the clay plate that held it, and the resulting scent that wafted through the room was pleasant, therapeutic. Spock sighed, and when he touched his face, examined his hands, nothing warped or smoked or burned. "I know what is real," he reaffirmed. "I am in control."

Spock nodded, satisfied, and began to prepare for his meeting with Jim.

***

Jim grasped his communicator, knuckles white, breath coming out in short pants. He covered his eyes with his hand. "Kenneth," he whispered after a time. "Hold my calls please."

" _Sir_ -?" Kenneth answered tinnily, a note of worry creeping in his voice.

Jim was going to be ill. "Just- just for a minute. I'll let you know. Kirk out." He flipped the communicator closed and brought his free hand up to his mouth. There was no reason to react this way nothing was wrong he was fine he was going to be _fine_ -

"I'm going to be sick," he blurted, and made a break for the door.

***

Jim held his hands under the running faucet, then leaned forward and splashed his face, carefully resisting the urge to beat his head against the wall. "What are you doing, Jim?" he asked his hazy reflection, blinking away droplets of water. He sighed and wiped at his face. "Damn. What are you _doing_?" Jim closed his eyes again, murmuring, "This doesn't change anything."

And it didn't; not really. But everything was happening so quickly ( _too quickly_ ), and Jim felt like he was reeling out of control, like he was spiralling down like the _Enterprise_ on the burning Genesis - only there was no Klingon warbird he could commandeer, and Jim was stuck with this dead ship on this dead planet clawing desperately for an escape pod that wasn't there anymore.

"No," Jim said suddenly, smacking the chrome sink with the side of his fist. "No, I can _do this_. I'm not crashing, I'm not burning, and whatever happens, I will _deal with it_." He took a deep breath in through his nose, the act almost a meditation in itself. "No more pussyfooting around, Kirk," Jim said then, dabbing at his face with his sleeve. "You'll talk to him at lunch today," he said, and it was a promise to himself. "Everything is going to be fine."

_"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times... Message, Spock?"_

_"None that I am conscious of - except, of course, Happy Birthday. Surely the best of times."_

***

Spock watched the man in front of him fiddle with the food (now most likely cold) on his plate, lost in thought. Two times already, the Vulcan had attempted conversation (conversation that Jim seemed to crave so much from Spock, that Spock found he ached for, as well), only to be met with a blank stare and distracted smile. Spock thought of his recent conversation with his father, of his and Jim's hesitant conversations the past few days, the words Jim always seemed to hold back at the last second.

Finally, Spock (to borrow the Human phrase) bit the bullet, leaned forward, and asked, "Did your meeting not go well, Captain?"

Jim started, shaking himself out of his internal brooding, then looked up and caught Spock's questioning gaze. He cracked a small grin. "Nothing I can't handle, Mr. Spock," he replied. "How was your morning?"

Spock inclined his head slightly. "It was restorative, if uneventful." Spock hesitated, and then: "I wish to apologize again, Captain. Jim. I feel as I have been less than accommodating for you and your... feelings as of late."

Jim's eyebrows furrowed, and then a brilliant smile overtook his face that nearly wiped away the exhaustion in his eyes. He chuckled, gaze dropping momentarily, before sighing. "No, Mr. Spock, I feel like it's I who should be apologizing. I haven't been very accommodating for _your_ feelings lately, either, have I?"

 _fire burning at his skin, stealing his sight, Spock had never felt so_ ill-

"I forget sometimes," Jim continued with a shy dip of his head, "just how different the you I met twenty years ago is from the you I-" he fumbled over his words for a moment, "-went to Genesis with. Sometimes," Jim whispered, his voice full of awe, "it amazes just how much you've grown as a person over the time we've known each other."

_It swam, it slid, it slapped its hands against the floor. "Let me out!" it roared._

A growing sense of dread was starting to rise up in Spock's throat, to choke the very breath from him; he reached forward to grab his water glass and took a sip from it, swallowing a few times. Even so, the fear seemed to envelop him, a primal part of his brain insisting _no, no, no, do not go further_.

_Black limbs slid up Jim's body, and wrapped the man up tight. It cooed into his ear, "Don't grieve, Admiral. It is logical." It grinned, and its teeth were flat and razor sharp._

Spock tamped the feeling down and instead asked quietly, "Perhaps you could enlighten me?" The man that Jim kept saying he knew, the man he was - were they the same person? Or was that person gone? Were they just getting each other's hopes up? Spock needed to know; he _needed that information_ , and a strange autonomic phenomenon would not deter his asking. _I know what is real_ , he reminded himself. _I am in control._

Jim froze, and then a line of tension seemed to melt out of him, that same smile that always seemed to send Spock's heart into fits curling over his lips. "Yes," he said mysteriously, inspecting his hands. "Perhaps I could. Tell me, Mr. Spock," he continued with a strange note in his voice, a slight edge of hysteria, "how much _do_ you remember? About us?"

Spock turned his full attention to Jim's face, to the lines creased across his forehead, the bags under his eyes. His Captain was clearly unwell, and yet he was still performing his normal duties as if nothing were wrong. He had not been to Starfleet Medical, but he had spent a, while not quite alarming, _disconcerting_ amount of time with the specialized healers, first on Vulcan, and then at the Compound. There was a _connection there_ , Spock knew, between all that had happened to Jim and all that was happening to him; he just couldn't _see it yet_. Spock opened his mouth, paused, and then stated, "You are James T. Kirk. We have served together for sixteen point two years, known each other for twenty point six. We are-" He pulled his gaze away momentarily before forcing it back. "...friends," he finished. "We are close. We completed many missions together."

Jim nodded, albeit shakily. "We are close," he agreed; Jim looked up at Spock and whispered, "Do you remember anything after the five-year mission?" Jim hid his hands under the table. "Don't you think it was odd that I was also invited to stay at the Vulcan Compound during our stay here?"

_"What is truth?" it asked aloud. Thick green blood poured from its mouth, splattered the tablecloth. "Is it ash?"_

Spock frowned, wondering at the jump in conversation Jim had made. "Those memories are hazy, at best," he admitted, his brows drawing together. His heart jumped, seemed to leap up into his throat, but Spock pushed on. "I recall that I... left," he said, cautious, unsure, "after our deep-space mission. I wanted to pursue the rites of Kolinahr. I recall the experience with V'Ger. I remember Khan. That is all I recall," Spock finished. All the remaining color drained from Jim's face, and he looked as if he might bolt (or perhaps even faint) at any second. "As for your stay at the Compound..." Spock pursed his lips suddenly, and drew a hand up to massage the twinge of pain building behind his temple. "I assumed you obtained permission from my father so that I would have the advantage of a familiar presence."

"That's-" Jim cleared his throat, eyes suddenly far away. "That's not too far off the mark, actually."

"Pardon?" Spock asked; the twinge was rapidly becoming a full-on migraine, and his autonomic functions were careening out of control, despite his very best attempts to control them. _I am in control_ , he told himself, even as his hands began to shake.

"You know what I mean," Jim said with a weak laugh. He took a breath. "Spock, I haven't been completely honest with you," he started shakily, "about us. About what we were - what we are to each other."

 _pain - the worst pain of his life, agony ripping him to shreds. "I have been, and always shall be, your friend." He pressed his hand against the glass (pressed his hand to_ Jim _), spread his fingers in the ta'al. If nothing else, he had this. "Live long - and prosper."_

Alarm bells went off in his head, urging him to _leave this second_ , and the Vulcan found he could no longer ignore his body's demands. "I apologize," Spock croaked as he stiffly stood, nearly bumping into the table, into the glass that housed his tomb. "I must leave."

" _What_?" Jim blurted, moving to stand with him. He reached out a hand to Spock, then aborted the motion when Spock flinched and took a few paces back. "Spock-" he whispered, and Jim looked like he would break if Spock took another step.

"Please," Spock said, voice trembling, the knowledge of what this dismissal would do to Jim like an anchor upon his chest. "Forgive me." He turned on his heel and very nearly _ran_ out of the restaurant.

Jim stood there in the restaurant, unaware of the worried exclamations and shocked gasps around him as his vision tunneled, his knees buckled, and the darkness reached up to swallow him whole.

***

Spock burst into his quarters, locked the doors, and switched off all external and internal communications, staggering down to his personal meditation mat and all but collapsing to his knees. He ground the heels of his palms into his eyelids, cognizant but very much unable to do little else but gasp as the sheer terror rolled over him in crushing, suffocating waves. There was _something there_ , something deep inside his mind that he could not grasp, could not touch, could do little else but stare as the knowledge fluttered away like bitter ash in the wind, and Spock did not _want it_ \- how could anyone want this if it brought such agony and _fear_ \- and Spock was aware of the hypocrisy of it all, even as he thought it. His entire life spent learning and searching and _wanting_ and he was afraid to unlock the part of him that seemed to _mean everything to everyone else_ (but _him_ , what did it mean to Spock?), but how could Spock be expected to do that when _he couldn't breathe_?

_It laughed at him, ripped his chest to ribbons; it held Spock's heart in its fist and squeezed._

Spock felt like he was drowning - drowning in the desert sands of Gol - and couldn't see the sky above him, couldn't stop the sand from pouring down his throat, couldn't find the strength to even scream.

***

Jim awoke to the stony face of Leonard McCoy glaring down his nose at him, his arms crossed over his chest, face pinched tight. Almost immediately, the light was too much to bear and Jim groaned softly, bringing up a shaky arm to rest over his eyes.

"Good," he heard Bones snap. "You're awake." There was a shuffle, then the sound of a door breezing open, and then Bones bellowed out into the hall, "T'Mena!" It grated on Jim's ears, made his whole body ache, and any reprieve he may have gotten after that was stolen when Bones stomped back in, taking the chair beside the bed and hissing, "You damn stupid _idiot_ , don't you dare do that to me again!"

Slowly, Jim removed his arm and met Bones' furious stare, then reached over to grasp his friend's forearm. "I'm sorry," he whispered; Jim tried to swallow and his throat was dry, raw. Bones gave him a sip of water and T'Mena, dressed in pale greys, paced in, arching one pointed eyebrow at them both. He closed his eyes and asked, "What happened?"

"You collapsed," Bones growled, looking all but three seconds away from slapping the shit out of him. Jim probably deserved it.

T'Mena nodded once. "That is correct," she confirmed, striding forward and waving a medical scanner over him. She peered at the results, then told him, "I will need to enter in a mind meld with you, Captain."

"I've been meditating," he told her, even as her cool hands pressed against his face. "Everyday - multiple times a day. You know I have." Jim moved to sit up, but she pushed him back down lightly. "T'Mena-"

"I understand this is difficult for you, Kirk," she said as she spread her fingers, her voice even, calm. "I understand that you are in pain, and that this process is not comfortable for you. However, you have left us with few other options, and your condition is deteriorating rapidly. We cannot afford the luxuries of indecision any longer."

"T'Mena-" Jim tried again.

"Will you allow me to meld with you, Kirk?" she asked, and her eyes were calm, steadying.

"Where's Spock?" Jim asked suddenly, turning to Bones.

McCoy scowled. "'Can't reach him," he muttered. "His doors are locked and he's not accepting calls right now."

Jim felt himself go slack, hollow, and he heard himself ask quietly, "What exactly would happen if I allowed you to heal it over?"

T'Mena did not need to ask what he meant. "It will become not unlike scar tissue. Humans are largely psi-null to begin with, so your decision would have to be final. You could not come back from it, could not form another mental bond - with Spock, or anyone else," she told him. "Is that what you want?"

"No, it's not what you want!" McCoy barked, and grabbed at Jim's hand, squeezed it tight against him. "Jim-" he said, and it was not McCoy's voice Jim heard.

_"This simple feeling," Spock whispered, "is beyond V'Ger's comprehension."_

Jim felt his lungs seize, panic clawing at his throat. "I need to talk to Spock," he said, helpless as he laid there; he squeezed his eyes shut. "Bones-"

"Got it, got it - I'll break the door down if I have to," Bones promised, darting out the room.

Jim swallowed, and it was painful. He stared up at T'Mena and whispered, "Sarek is on his way to Earth - he'll be here in a week-"

" _Kirk_ ," T'Mena snapped. "You will not _last that long_."

Jim grieved - grieved for what he had done, what we was about to do. "Spock won't come," he said, and the words choked him, "and I won't put him through this. I have to-" He broke off. Jim couldn't say it - couldn't _not_ say it.

"Kirk?" T'Mena asked. _Are you sure?_

"I have to take care of myself," Jim replied. He closed his eyes. _I'm sure._ "Heal it over."

***

T'Mena cast one final look to the sleeping figure on the bed, before turning away with a small sigh. "Taren!" she called, and he appeared through a side door.

"Mother," Taren greeted with a nod; his gaze shot to Captain Kirk. "Is he-?"

"He is resting," she told him. "He will need his strength if he is to be able to handle what is to come." Taren's eyes flashed, and he opened his mouth to speak, but T'Mena cut him off with one hand. "I need a favor from you, Son," she requested then; Taren nodded, silent. "Doctor McCoy - he has gone to the residential area to attempt to find Captain Spock. I need you to bring the doctor back here."

Taren cocked his head to the side. "I do not follow," he said. "You do not wish for him to retrieve Captain Spock?"

"It is not my concern at the moment," T'Mena confessed. "There is something-" T'Mena's brow furrowed minutely, "wrong. With the doctor."

"Wrong?" Taren echoed, though he was already moving into the hall to switch his slippers for shoes. "What do you believe to be the problem, Mother?"

T'Mena was quiet for a few moments. "I do not know," she finally admitted.

"But you have suspicions," Taren guessed.

"Yes," T'Mena replied, folding her hands in her robes, "I have suspicions."

T'Mena sincerely hoped they were wrong.

***

There were voices pounding at the door - No, one voice. And yet not. _Do I know what is real?_ Spock asked himself. He honestly could not tell anymore. The shouting continued, and Spock buried his head in his hands and squeezed.

 _"I warned you," it whispered silkily into his ear. "You did not_ listen _."_

He had not. Fire filled his nose, charred his insides, burned him alive. Spock choked on his tongue. How cruel of fate, Spock noted idly, that he would be brought back only to die again.

 _No_ , something inside of him shouted. _NO_. Spock's vision swam, and his throat rebelled, but he stood anyway. The knocking stopped and the voices faded away.

 _If I am to die again_ , Spock thought with sudden conviction, _it will not be like this_. Spock staggered to the wall, out the door, and into the empty hall. He did not know if the voices had been real. Spock could not find it in him to care.

 _It paused, ears perking to attention, and then a malicious grin spread across its lips. "Oh," it laughed. "Oh_ my _." Hands slid beneath his ribs and caressed his skin from the inside out. It slunk into his heart and purred, "You're going to let me out, aren't you?"_

Spock needed answers, and he was not going to let the pain deter him any longer.

***

"What is your current rank?" T'Mena asked, shooting a stern look to the figure on the biobed. "When did you enlist in Starfleet?"

There was an irritated sigh, followed by the shuffling of cloth as McCoy sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. "Commander," Bones snapped. "2253. Can I _go_ now?"

"What is your year of birth?" T'Mena asked instead, calmly, evenly.

McCoy shot her a glare. "2227," he snapped back. "Look, I don't see what this has to do with _anything_ -"

"I am concerned there is internal damage to your amygdala, as well as key other places in your cerebrum," T'Mena countered with a raise of her brow, "as I have already told you no less than three times."

"Yeah, well, you also did a brain scan - and found _nothing_." McCoy steepled his fingers together and pressed them to his lips. "Just how many more tests do you plan on doing, anyway?"

T'Mena caught the gesture and recorded it in her notes. Was this a normal action for the Doctor, or was it not? She couldn't be sure at this time, but her instincts told her she was moving in the right direction. "As I have also told you no less than three times, I am not concerned about physical damage, but telepathic." T'Mena closed her eyes to center herself momentarily. She took a breath. "Just as we can expect trauma from thrusting one's katra from one body to the next, so should we expect trauma from the mingling of two katras in one body - a Human body, no less." 

"You think I don't have an idea of how to gauge my body by now?" Bones snapped. "I'm a doctor, dammit! You have asked me the same damn questions, again and again, for almost two hours now, and I've gone along with it," Bones said; he crossed his arms over his chest and pulled on his grumpiest glare. "Well, I've answered them. Now let me see Jim Kirk."

"Negative," T'Mena replied, folding her hands in front of her and snapping her shoulders back, as if gearing for a fight. "Jim Kirk is currently engaged in a twenty-four hour meditation period, after which time I and another qualified healer will meld with him and heal his [in'sna tel](boop)."

"Don't pull that Vulcan shit with me," Bones hissed, and his eyes burned. "Speaking about it clinically doesn't change the fact that you're breaking something that's been a part of that man's psyche for over a decade now."

"Your logic is not certain in regards to James Kirk," T'Mena replied. "I do not believe you are qualified to advise me on the subject."

"The hell I am!" Bones snarled.

"And what do you suggest we do then, Doctor?" she asked coolly. "Wait for his mind to split to pieces? For him to go mad? You wish for me to wait for a man who would not willingly come to his husband's aid?"

"You don't know he won't come!" McCoy bellowed, face twisting up in rage. He stood and clenched his hands into fists, his shoulders beginning to shake. "If you would just-"

"I know that he left today when Kirk needed him the most. I know that Kirk did not wish for him to be present when I performed the mind melds. _I_ have heeded Captain Kirk and Ambassador Sarek's wishes that we take his recovery at this pace-" T'Mena's voice began to rise, as well, and she threw one arm out in a grand, sweeping gesture. "We have _all_ heeded his wishes and given Kirk the space he so desired. These are the consequences of his actions," she finished lowly, "and Kirk must be the one to live with them."

Somewhere in the middle of her tirade, McCoy's patience had left him, and he slammed the side of his fist against the wall. "[Kroikah](boop)!" he shouted. T'Mena started at his words and her head snapped up, her gaze suddenly sharp. " _Stop it_ ," McCoy repeated. "I will be _damned_ if I-"

T'Mena grit her teeth, and she hissed in clipped tones, "Rank. Enlistment date. Birth date."

Bones raised an eyebrow, and he said, " _Excuse me_?"

" _Indulge me_ ," T'Mena shot back, a sneer beginning to pull at her lips, "to borrow the Human phrase."

McCoy's face twisted. "I don't see how-"

" _Answer_ me!" T'Mena demanded, rearing up into his face, her eyes blazing.

"Now you listen here-"

"No, you will listen to _me_!" T'Mena yelled and she puffed out her chest in a show of anger. "Rank. Enlistment date. _Birth date_."

" _Captain. 2250.19. 2230.06._ " McCoy mustered up his most furious stare. "Now. Are we _done_?"

The fire seemed to leave T'Mena then and she sighed, reaching out to the wall for support. "No," she said sadly, pressing the blue button near the door panel; two more healers stepped in moments later, hypos brandished. "I'm afraid we are far from done, Doctor."

***

This was the ultimate breach of privacy.

Spock stood in the entrance to Kirk's quarters, _fidgeting_. He should not be here, Spock told himself. Jim was not here, and snooping through his possessions while he was absent seemed to be the lowest of lows. It had seemed a good idea at the time, when Spock was blind and stumbling and desperate to keep the pain at bay; yet as he moved to take that final step, his resolve began to leave him, and Spock nearly turned on his heel and left right then.

"You are always welcome here," Jim had told him.

Spock didn't quite think this was what the man had had in mind.

_It prowled around him, slithered in circles, eyes glittering and fixed upon his face. "Is your having not so pleasing so soon?" it snickered._

As he crossed the threshold, the door sliding shut behind him, Spock took a minute to ground himself. Though it did not have the effect of his morning's meditation, it was a comfort in itself to be able record his body's functions, to monitor to steady change in heart rate, in blood pressure. "I-" he started to say, then stopped himself. No, Spock was not quite in control.

Spock surveyed the room slowly, in a single sweeping glance. What was he looking for? "What is truth?" Spock asked the empty room.

_It raised one pointed eyebrow, eyes consumed with misery. "Truth," it whispered, "is pain."_

Spock pushed on, eyes glancing over the titles in Jim's bookshelf, the discs at his workspace. He glanced at the terminal and- had a feeling. "Computer," he said aloud. "Playback personal log of Captain James T. Kirk."

"Time/Date specification," the terminal requested, and another piece clicked into place.

_It clawed its way up Spock's calves, breathless, screeching in pain. "Let me out!" it yowled. It sobbed, "Please do not let me out."_

An intense case of vertigo struck Spock, and he had to grasp the desk to keep from falling over. "Playback earliest recorded entry on this device," Spock stuttered, "and move forward chronologically."

The soft sigh of Jim Kirk filled the room. " _Captain's personal log, stardate 8402.4. I guess old habits die hard, even when we're not in space, hah... Despite the fact that I've never been overly fond of the climate on Vulcan, I find myself strangely missing it - missing the people there, as well._ "

Spock finally regained his balance and pushed himself up, continuing his search. The spot on the carpet from the night before was gone, as if it had never been there, and Spock frowned despite himself. Grey clouded the corner of his vision and he shook his head irritably. 

" _I tried talking to Spock today_ ," Jim's voice continued, soft and so, so sad. " _He doesn't- he really doesn't remember. God, what am I-_ [ERROR MESSAGE: RECORDING DELETED] _Captain's personal log, stardate 8410.8 I'm not really sure what the next step is. I've talked to Sarek, to Amanda, to the other Healers - they all say the same thing: meditate, have patience, be there for Spock as his memories come back, but I-_ ," another sigh, and Spock had to sit on the bed as the pain in his head increased. " _The headaches are getting worse_ ," Jim whispered, " _nearly everyday now. I know that Sarek said the[kai'tan](boop) 2 wasn't something I could replicate without the assistance of another healer_-"

With a start, Spock's gaze snapped to the terminal, and he braced his hand on the nightstand to push himself upward; in his haste, the heel of his hand grazed something cool and slender.

" _-but I just... can't handle them in my head. It's too painful for words_."

_It howled, a desperate sound. It shredded Spock's insides, claws spread in a mockery of the ta'al. "You can-" it gurgled, "you cannot!" It slipped its hands into Spock's brain, ripped apart his hippocampus, his amygdala. "I'm sorry, Doctor," it sputtered, blood dripping from its lips. "I have no time to discuss this logically."_

Spock looked down at the silver picture frame, fingers hovering just barely above the tabs that held the back in place. His breath caught. 

" _How can I describe what it's like to have strangers poking around in my head?_ "

Spock grasped the frame, flipped it to its upright position.

" _To have them bear witness to my most cherished of memories?_ "

Spock stared at the image in the frame - of himself in his best robes, of Jim in his dress uniform. Jim's eyes were crinkled at the corners, his lips pulled into the widest grin. He looked at Spock like he was the only man in the galaxy - the only one that mattered - and there was such a pure, unadulterated look of awe on his face, of adoration. He was- ethereal. Breathtaking. And Spock - Spock was staring at Jim as if the sun rose in his eyes and set in his smile, as if Jim Kirk pulled the tides and summoned the stars. Spock looked at Jim as if he were the beginning, middle, and end of everything Spock was and ever would be.

 _It clutched at Spock's cheeks, at his nose and his mouth and his eyes, and Spock stared into his own face, into eyes clouded and blind and brimming with pain. His own fingers, blistered and torn, slotted to his temples, his cheekbones, the underside of his jaw. Pressure, like a dam fit to burst, began to build up in his head, behind his eyelids. "Remember," Spock cried as his skin bubbled, cracked, and fell apart. "Remember what it is to_ die _."_

It hit him all at once, like a phaser at point-blank range, and Spock fell apart at the seams.

***

_Forget Earth; think only of Vulcan. You were born here of a Vulcan father, raised here as a Vulcan son... and Vulcan children, like children everywhere, can be unthinkingly cruel. Strange, I have never been aware until now that it was my boyhood on Vulcan which had ultimately driven me into Starfleet. I had to prove to myself that those times of tears and laughter had been only a child’s errors. It was to prove my mastery over myself that I went out among Humans and defied them to make me less Vulcan than I am._

_But what was it that Jim Kirk had once said? "Spock, why fight so hard to be a part of only one world? Why not fight instead to be the best of both?"_

_"Spock."_

_"Jim! Goodbye my... my_ t'hy'la _. This is the last time I will permit myself to think of you or even your name again."_

_"Spock, I wish you were here to help me understand."_

Spock lay there on the floor, motionless, for so long that his body could no longer accurately tell the time. His eyelids felt sticky, heavy, as if someone had taken a thick paste to his face and smeared it all over. He took in a deep breath through his nose, and his chest nearly split in two. Spock managed to turn his head to the side as the first gagging cough racked his body. They came in harsh, nauseating waves, and the only reason he managed to keep the bile at bay was simply because Spock's stomach had nothing to expel. He was dizzy, unsettled, and his consciousness kept retreating between (what Spock assumed to be) reality and an unceasing barrage of memories that beat against his mental defenses like a hammer to a sheet of paper.

 

_["Nahp, hif-bi tu throks. Kashkau, Spohkh, wuhkuh eh teretuhr... T'Ish hokni'es kwi'shoret. Estuhl terrupik khaf, Spohkh. Vravshal srashiv t'Kolinahr. T'I kilko-srashiv kitok-wilat. I'tah tehrai k'etwel. Dif-tor heh smusma, Spohkh."](boop) _

It could've been minutes, hours, or even days later, but Spock's nausea eventually settled enough for him to try to move again; he pressed the back of his hand to his lips and just breathed, a soft inhale and exhale through the nose. Finally, he braced himself up on his elbow. His vision doubled, but his stomach seemed content to behave for the moment, so Spock allowed himself another, sharper gasp of air and shoved himself to his knees.

_"Mr. Spock! Welcome aboard."_

Spock's heart seized in his side and he nearly crumpled back to the floor again. He clutched at his ribcage pathetically, the organ betraying him once more as another wave of pain washed over him. Spock took in another ragged breath and clawed his way to his feet before collapsing against a wall. "Computer," he rasped. "What is the time?"

" _14:32_."

_"Bones! We need him. I need him!"_

Spock pursed his lips. _How long had he been unconscious_? "Locate James T. Kirk," he said then, sliding one hand along the wall in an attempt to keep upright; he began to move towards the door. There was an odd sensation blooming in his chest, a sense of urgency that set his skin to crawl, his teeth to itch. He felt as if time were running out, but for what precisely, Spock could not be sure.

" _That information is classified_ ," the computer replied.

He frowned, and said again, "Computer, locate James T. Kirk."

" _That information is classified_."

Spock's steps faltered, and his eyes narrowed. "Leonard McCoy?" he asked suspiciously.

" _That information is classified_ ," the computer replied.

Grey began to cloud the corners of his vision and Spock had to close his eyes for a minute. "Yeoman Kenneth Tran," Spock tried in a last ditch effort.

" _Yeoman Tran is currently not at the Compound_ ," the computer dutifully recited. " _No data on when he will return_."

_"Spock."_

With something he would certainly _not_ classify as a frustrated sigh, Spock managed to shuffle his way out of Jim's quarters, still using the wall as a crutch. Not five minutes later, the floor rose up to greet him and he grunted, turning his head to the side to avoid a frontal impact.

"Captain?" a voice called from across the hall. One of the younger Vulcans from the Compound padded up, rolling back her sleeves to move to assist him. "Captain Spock - are you unwell?" she asked. Her eyes searched his and she frowned minutely, a slight furrow appearing between her brows. "You are not well," she said then. "Let me take you to your quarters to rest."

"I am-" The words stuck in his throat, thick like mud, and Spock cleared his throat noisily, "fine," he said eventually. Her eyebrow twitched at his ambiguous choice of words, but Spock continued with, "I am looking for Captain Kirk."

"You should not be moving in this state," she said instead, pulling him up to lean against her. "You are clearly unfit to continue as you are. Come - let us return to your quarters and I will call a healer."

Spock shook his head. "Were this any other time-" he started, but she had already begun dragging him along. "Please," Spock started, "I must _insist_ -"

"Karis!" another voice suddenly called out. Taren, slightly breathless, appeared, his hands carefully hidden behind his back. "I will take it from here," Taren said then to Karis. "Please allow me to escort Captain Spock to the infirmary."

"I must decline," Spock rasped. Internally, a litany of _Jim, Jim, Jim_ had begun, a chorus of _something is very, very wrong_ setting off alarm bells in his head.

"My mother has requested his presence specifically," he said to Karis. "Please allow me to take the captain to the infirmary." Karis hesitated at first, but nodded, gently removing Spock's arm from her shoulder to loop around Taren's, then going on her way. To Spock, Tarren said firmly, "Please allow me to take you to the infirmary - you will understand when we arrive."

Spock opened his mouth once more to argue, but his vision swam and then-

_" I saw V'Ger's planet, a planet populated by living machines. Unbelievable technology. V'Ger has knowledge that spans this universe. And yet, with all this pure logic... V'Ger is barren, cold; no mystery, no beauty. I should have known."_

_"Known? Known what? Spock, what should you have known?"_

"Captain?" Taren quietly asked.

_"This- simple feeling... is beyond V'Ger's comprehension. No meaning, no hope... and, Jim, no answers. It's asking questions. 'Is this all I am? Is there nothing more?'"_

Warmth bloomed in Spock's side, spread to his chest and extremities, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. His fingers tightened in Taren's robes as his muscles jerked and seized.

_"We have come together in the presence of the Gods of Old to witness, celebrate, and bless the joining together of Spock, of the House of Sarek, and James, of the House of Kirk."_

" _Captain_?" Taren asked again, and brought his free hand up to lightly smack the older Vulcan's face. "Whatever trance you are in will have to wait," he muttered mulishly. " _Awaken_."

Spock started, teetering precariously between the past and present, and thought, _Jim_. Out loud, he croaked, "I must-"

Taren nodded and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Captain Kirk is in a private room in the medical wing," he stated quietly, "twenty-two hours into a twenty-four-hour meditation period before his Bond Healing. I am sorry that you are in pain, Captain, but you must come with me, and we must _hurry_."

_"Spock, James - do you pledge to help each other to develop your hearts and minds, cultivating compassion, generosity, ethics, patience, enthusiasm, concentration, and wisdom as you age and undergo the various ups and downs of life and to transform them into the path of love, compassion, joy, and equanimity?"_

As if someone had dropped a bucket of ice water down Spock's spine, he jerked, then nodded. "Yes," Spock agreed, then, with Taren's help, began to limp down his way to the medical wing.

_"We do."_ 3

***

"Out of the question," T'Mena stated, crossing her arms underneath her chest. She took in the sight of Spock's haggard state, of Taren fighting to keep the other Vulcan upright, and frowned. To Taren, she said, "Son, your actions here were not dictated by logic."

" _Mother_ ," Taren hissed. "You would have Captain Kirk go through the Bond Healing when his husband is here to repair the damage himself?"

"You would have Captain Spock attempt to guide another's thoughts in this state of his?" T'Mena countered, a deep line creasing her forehead.

" _Mother_ -!" Taren started again, but T'Mena held up a hand to silence him.

"Does he even know why he is here?" she replied, her eyes sharp and cold. "Or did you merely bring him here through brute force, Taren? I do not say this to be unkind, Son, but your personal feelings-" And Taren reared back, as if he had been slapped across the face, "-have clouded your judgment in this matter."

_"A no-win situation is a possibility every commander may face. Has that never occurred to you?"_

_"...No sir. It has not."_

"My bond," Spock whispered then; Taren and T'Mena's focus snapped back to him. Spock went to speak and found his throat to be dry, grainy, as if he'd swallowed a mouthful of sand. He coughed to clear his throat and tried again: "I had a bond," Spock confessed. "It was broken. I did not remember." T'Mena's eyebrow twitched, as if she were unimpressed, and Spock continued, "There was a block in place - something that my mind did not want me to remember."

_"Aren't you dead?"_

Spock's knees suddenly gave out and he fell to the floor, nearly dragging Taren with him. He gasped in lungfuls of air, black spots dancing in front of his eyes, and dug the heel of one hand to his brow. "N-no," Spock stuttered. "No, I must-"

"You would have him enter a mind so fragile when he cannot even remain standing for any length of time?" T'Mena shook her head even as she moved to help Spock to a nearby biobed. "I am sorry, Son, truly I am, but I will not debate this matter further," she said. She gently eased Spock back into a lying position. "Sleep, Captain. I would not presume to tell you all will be fine - it will not. But perhaps you will learn to live with it."

_"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times... Message, Spock?"_

_"None that I am conscious of - except, of course, Happy Birthday. Surely the best of times."_

"I beg of you," Spock pleaded, reaching up to grasp at her sleeve. His arm shook at the effort. "This is my _husband_."

T'Mena sighed, and suddenly she looked so, so sad. "Perhaps if you were stronger, I could guide you through it," she confessed as she peeled Spock's fingers from her robe, "but you are not. And I cannot allow the death of two patients when I could save them both."

Spock shook his head. "I know my mind," he asserted.

"As do I," T'Mena replied. "I also know James Kirk's mind, and _I tell you_ it will _not_ take the strain."

Taren looked back and forth between the two of them, his face surprisingly stricken as he watched the scene unfold between them.

_["Gishen worla ihk-banut."](boop) _

Spock shook his head. "I cannot accept this."

"Nevertheless," T'Mena told him softly, turning away to retrieve a hypo, "you will have to."

_["Wakli ak'wikman, ot-lan?"](boop) _

Taren closed his eyes for a moment, took a breath, then whispered, "Please forgive me, Mother."

_["Ish-veh ni... komihn."](boop) _

T'Mena crumpled, and Spock jerked his head to Taren, who gathered her gently in his arms and tucked her in the bed opposite Spock. He noticed Spock's stare and said, almost waspishly, "It was merely a nerve pinch, Captain. Please do not look at me as if I have just committed matricide."

Spock blinked, slowly, painfully, then asked, "Why would you do this?"

_["Kling akhlami buhfik - Saavik-kam."](boop) _

To Spock's astonishment, Taren's face softened, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. He whispered, "When Captain Kirk first came to the Compound, there was little else he could talk of but you. Your condition, your likes, your dislikes, what kind of room would suit you best, what kind of tea you preferred after a particularly brutal healing melding." Taren reached forward and drew a loose lock of hair from his mother's face and tucked it behind her ear. "Everything he has done has been with you first and foremost in his mind. It is not logical," he continued, his eyebrows knitting together tightly, "but it is- most admirable." Then he looked up at Spock and smiled, the lightest of tilting to his lips. "It is my wish that you would continue to take care of Captain Kirk as he has taken care of you, sir."

_"You take the ship."_

_"Jim, you proceed from a false assumption. I am a Vulcan. I have no ego to bruise."_

Spock locked eyes with Taren, took in a largely futile attempt to center himself, and said, "Thank you. What you have done is most admirable yourself."

_"You're about to remind me that logic alone dictates your actions."_

_"I would not remind you of that which you know so well. If I may be so bold, it was a mistake for you to accept promotion. Commanding a starship is your first best destiny. Anything else is a waste of material."_

Taren's attention turned back to the prone form of his mother on the biobed. "Yes, well." He sighed. "I am not so certain my mother will share the same sentiment when she awakens." He shook his head and stood. "Come - I will take you to Captain Kirk's room."

_"I would not presume to debate you."_

_"That is wise. In any case, were I to invoke logic, logic clearly dictates that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."_

_"Or the one."_

_"You are my superior officer. You are also my friend. I have been and always shall be yours."_

The walk itself was not long - the medical wing was not overly large, and Jim's room was only a few sets of doors down - but to Spock it felt like _hours_ upon hours of endless torture, of trudging through the thick mud of the desert, of the sun beating upon his worn and weathered face, the sand-filled, gritty wind scratching at his eyes. Spock could not sweat, but he could pant, and even he could tell the grey in his vision was not clearing. They arrived at their destination ( _finally_ ) and Spock had to take a moment to rest against the wall, his limbs shaking profusely.

_"Spock!"_

"Captain, _please_ ," Taren urged. "I know that you can do this."

_"Jim. Be careful."_

Spock nodded and took a deep breath. "Thank you, Taren," he told the younger Vulcan. "I believe I can take it from here."

"Sir?" Taren asked, uncertain.

_"You lied."_

_"I exaggerated."_

Spock inclined his head once more. "I think, perhaps," he started slowly, desperate to keep the tremor out of his voice, "I would like to meet my husband again for the first time without assistance."

_"Are you out of your Vulcan mind? No Human can tolerate the radiation that's in there!"_

_"But, as you are so fond of observing, Doctor, I am not Human."_

There was a short, quiet pause before Taren nodded. He said, "I must go check on my mother's condition." He raised his hand in the ta'al. "Live long and prosper, Captain."

_"You're not going in there!"_

_"Perhaps you're right. What is Mister Scott's condition?"_

Spock raised his hand to mirror the gesture. "Peace and long life." Taren cast one final, inscrutable look at Spock before turning on his heel and marching down another corridor, back the way the two of them had come. Spock turned to the door before him and closed his eyes to center himself.

_"Well, I don't think that he-"_

_"I'm sorry, Doctor. I have no time to discuss this logically."_

Spock opened his eyes and pressed his hand to the keypad.

_"Remember!"_

***

The hairs on the back of Jim's neck prickled approximately three seconds before the door slid open and someone slowly stepped in. At once, without even turning back to look, Jim knew who it was. His arms and spine relaxed from their meditative position, and he opened his eyes to stare at the dimly lit asenoi before him. He whispered, "Spock," and his heart hurt.

"Jim," Spock answered.

Unbidden, Jim's pulse began to quicken, and it took every ounce of effort in him not to turn back to look. "I was supposed to be undisturbed for another two hours," Jim murmured, his quiet voice echoing in the empty room, "and you were definitely not supposed to be allowed in here."

"I am- quite skilled, technologically speaking," Spock quipped and Jim actually bit back a laugh.

"Yes," he whispered sadly. "Yes you are." Against his better judgment, Jim looked up from the floor, turning slowly around to meet Spock's gaze across the room. Jim saw him, and immediately moved to stand. Spock held up a hand and Jim sat back down. "Spock, you look like-" Jim turned green, pain winding across his face, and said again, "You look terrible; why aren't you in bed?"

Spock shook his head and confessed, "There were more important matters to attend to." Spock's eyes darted to the side momentarily for a moment, his gaze unfocused, and Jim's heart clenched at the side of it. Spock swayed, and Jim was on his feet in an instant, and he rushed over to lay a steadying hand on Spock's arm.

_"Don't grieve, Admiral-"_

Jim wrenched his hand back, as if he'd been burned, and looked back up at Spock before resting his hand on the clothed part of Spock's forearm. "Come on," he whispered, "let's get you somewhere to sit."

"I cannot," Spock said, and reached up to cradle Jim's face. "Jim, I-" Spock closed his eyes and pressed their foreheads together. "Forgive me," he murmured.

_"-I never took the Kobayashi Maru test until now-"_

Heat stung at Jim's eyes and his throat began to ache and tighten. "Spock, if this is about lunch yesterday-"

"It is _not_ ," Spock whispered heatedly, and pulled back to look straight into Jim's eyes. Jim felt his face heat, and Spock continued with, "I have done so many things to hurt you - I have thought only of myself and-"

"Spock," Jim blurted, and grabbed at his face. His vision blurred, and he whispered, almost like a prayer, "Spock, Spock, Spock. It's fine. Everything is alright. Come sit down." He tugged Spock over to the meditation mat and together, they both clumsily sat, Spock shaking from exertion and Jim's vision greying in and out. "Spock," he said again, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone. "What happened?"

"I have been having- horrible visions. Nightmares. I went to your rooms," Spock explained, moving to catch Jim's hands before he could take them back, "because I believed your presence to be the source of these hallucinations."

"You-" Jim cleared his throat and looked away. "You sure know how to flatter a guy," he rasped, and Spock's grip tightened around Jim's hands.

"This was not quite the case," Spock continued, and Jim's gaze returned to Spock once again. Spock whispered, "Jim. When I-" _When I died_ , Jim's mind helpfully, _traitorously_ supplied, "it was an excruciating experience. I cannot be certain, but what I believe happened is that, in an effort to not relive the trauma, to protect my mind, a mental block was set up to prevent the intense emotions from rushing out and crushing me. As a result-"

"Your mind didn't distinguish," Jim murmured, and his stomach churned.

Spock nodded. "It blocked out the strongest of my memories. Including-" 

"Our memories," Jim finished for him again, and he had to pull back and grind his fist between his brows. The pain was absolutely agonizing. "Spock, I _can't_ -" he whispered, and his voice broke.

Spock's hands jerked forward and ever-so-gently slipped to Jim's meld points, as if these past months had never happened, as if nothing had changed. "Jim," Spock whispered, voice trembling, "if nothing else, please allow me to fix that which I have broken."

Jim choked on a sob and, unbelievably, his face pulled back in the brightest of smiles. He looked up at Spock, red-faced, sweating, and exhausted, and told him, "Spock... it's no one's fault - least of all, yours." He smiled again, bright as the sun, and whispered, "I've missed you."

"And I, you," Spock replied; his thumb brushed against Jim's lip, and he whispered, "Will you allow me to meld with you, Jim?"

Jim laughed. "As if I'd ever want anyone else in my head." Then he ducked his head, almost guiltily, and admitted, "It's ah- it's not going to be pretty in here, just a warning."

Spock's face softened and tilted Jim's face up so their eyes could meet. His hand slid to Jim's shoulder, and his thumb brushed the bottom of his neck, and Jim crumbled, a few wayward tears sneaking past his defenses. "Oh hell," he hissed, breath hitching, and lunged forward to wrap his arms tightly around Spock's ribcage. Spock returned the gesture wholeheartedly, and in their closeness there was no way to hide their tremors from each other, no way to hide the exhaustion that clearly marked them both. "Spock," he said then, unable to look up and meet his husband's eyes. "We don't have to do this. We-" He laughed, almost hysterical. "There's no way either of us can do this right now."

There was a slight pause, and then Spock said, the vibrations of his voice sending tingles down to Jim's toes, "Has James Kirk finally started to believe in the no-win scenario?"

Jim pulled back immediately with a huff and shouted, "Of course not, you idiot! You-" Jim stopped, narrowed his eyes up at Spock, and then laughed again, the sound sweet and full of life. " _You_ ," he said again.

"Yes, Jim?" Spock asked, almost innocently, and Jim nearly swatted him where he sat.

Jim shook his head with a snort and said, "Well, come on then." He folded his hands in his lap and snapped his spine up straight, as he was taught to do, and the motion was a comfort in itself.

Spock nodded, exhaled the tiniest puff of air, and said, "My mind to your mind."

Jim's eyes slowly slid shut and he sighed, "My thoughts to your thoughts."

The barriers between them washed away like the ocean's tide and, all at once, the pain came crashing down to greet them.

*** Epilogue ***

"There's something to be said about stubborn men who don't listen to their mothers," Amanda said as soon as they'd awakened. Beside her, Sarek sat still as a stone, and on the other side of the room, George and Winona Kirk huddled together with matching frowns. When Winona noticed Jim's eyes slowly blinking open and shut, she stood and marched over, smacking at his shoulder with the side of her purse.

"Mom-" Jim started slowly, his eyes widening with horror.

"I can't-" _thwack_ " _believe_ -" _thwack_ "that this was all happening-" _thwack_ "and you didn't think to _call your mother_!" She swatted Jim again for good measure and shouted, "James Tiberius Kirk, _so help me_."

"Dad!" Jim pleaded; he shot a look of desperation towards his father.

George sighed. "Winona-" he started long-sufferingly.

"Don't you 'Winona' me!" Winona jabbed a finger at her husband. "He comes back to Earth, doesn't tell us he gets demoted," Jim made a sour face behind her back, "doesn't tell us he's not feeling well; doesn't tell us he almost _dies_ \- George Kirk, I don't want to hear another 'Winona' from your mouth!"

George, very slowly, turned back to Jim and shrugged. "Your mother's right, Jim. You couldn't comm us to let us know what was going on?"

"I was busy!" Jim defended.

"Busy not talking to your mother!" Winona snapped and shook her purse at him.

Jim couldn't help the laughter that bubbled out of him and reached up to grasp his mother's hand and hold it tight. "I'm sorry, Mom," he whispered, and turned his head to the side to try and catch a glimpse of Spock.

Spock, in the middle of a family 'reunion' of his own, caught Jim's eye and held out two fingers for Jim. Jim glowed and pressed his own fingers to Spock's; Amanda cooed and fawned at the gesture, whilst Sarek merely grumbled something low for only Spock to hear. Spock merely rose one eyebrow and murmured something quietly in Vulcan back to Sarek.

The door slid open and T'Mena stepped in, her face carefully blank. Spock immediately withdrew his hand and moved to sit up, but T'Mena held up a hand to stop him. "Lie down, Spock," she said with the smallest of frowns. "Even you have to know how close to two of you came to death during your melding." Her eye twitched, and Jim watched her remove herself from the emotion as she smoothed her hands down the front of her robe.

Beside him, Spock said, "I wish for you to know-"

"My son," T'Mena interrupted, "is lucky that he is my son - and that is all I shall say on the matter. Lie down, Captain," she ordered again. "The two of you will require much rest before I let either of you from your bed."

A thought occurred to Jim, and he asked, "Where's Dr. McCoy?"

A fingertip twitched, and Jim could see it for the fumbling it was. T'Mena said, "Doctor McCoy is in another private room. He is also recuperating at the moment."

"Recuperating?" Dread fell into the pit of Jim's stomach. "What happened to him?"

Jim watched her debate herself for half a second, and then she said, "I will allow you to comm him - provided you do as I ask and _stay_ in your bed."

Jim opened his mouth to say something charming, but a glare from her cut him right off. "Alright, alright - I'll stay in bed. May I talk to Bones now, please?"

The communication was quick to set-up, and whatever worries Jim had faded when McCoy's cantankerous face lit up the screen. "Bones!" he greeted with a smile.

McCoy glared from his bed. "You look like hell," he snapped. "Idiot."

Jim felt positively gooey. "Says the man also currently remanded to his biobed," he shot back, biting on his lip in a poor attempt to stifle his grin. "What happened to you?"

If possible, McCoy's frowned worsened. "Brain damage," he said with a scowl.

Jim sat up in alarm, and T'Mena let out the softest of sighs. "That is not entirely accurate, Doctor," she rebuked. "The doctor was experiencing ill effects of his time holding Captain Spock's katra. We have been taking steps to fix the problem."

"More like just an excuse to root around in my head five times a day," McCoy grumbled.

"Come now, Doctor," T'Mena replied, and her eyes were soft, twinkling, "I would not need so extravagant an excuse to 'root around in your head'."

Jim blinked, slowly, and asked, "How long have we been out again?"

" _Two weeks_!" Bones and Winona snapped, and a familiar voice in the back of his head trickled through, whispering, _Fifteen days, six hours, nineteen point two minutes._

The rest of the world seemed to melt away then, leaving just the two of them in their thoughts. Jim caught Spock's eye again and beamed. _Nashaut, Spock_ , he thought shyly, butterflies fluttering throughout his chest. Spock inclined his head ever-so-slightly, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and smiled.

_Nashaut, T'hy'la._

**Author's Note:**

> The wonderful tprillah was kind enough to do art for my fic, which you can find [here](http://tprillahfiction.livejournal.com/137353.html)!
> 
>  **Translations:**  
>  _asenoi_ : a Vulcan fire pot used for meditation to center one's thoughts  
>  _whl'tri_ : simple meditation technique  
>  _Kaiidth._ : What is, is.  
>  _katra_ : living spirit, the essence of a Vulcan's mind  
>  _in'sna tel_ : broken bond  
>  _ashayam_ : beloved (though I've only ever seen it used in fic)  
>  _Kroikah!_ : Stop!  
>  _kaitan_ : the temporary repression of pain with simultaneous muscle control; it is a mind discipline that requires years of devotion to master  
>  _Nahp, hif-bi tu throks. Kashkau, Spohkh, wuhkuh eh teretuhr... T'Ish hokni'es kwi'shoret. Estuhl terrupik khaf, Spohkh. Vravshal srashiv t'Kolinahr. T'I kilko-srashiv kitok-wilat. I'tah tehrai k'etwel. Dif-tor heh smusma, Spohkh._ : Your thoughts, give them to me. Our minds are joined, Spock, together, and as one. I sense the consciousness calling to you from space. Your human blood is touched by it, Spock. You have not yet attained Kolinahr. He must search elsewhere for his answer. He shall not find it here. Live long and prosper, Spock.  
>  _Gishen worla ihk-banut._ : He's never what I expect.  
>  _Wakli ak'wikman, ot-lan?_ : What surprises you, Lieutenant?  
>  _Ish-veh ni... Komihn._ : He's so... Human.  
>  _Kling akhlami buhfik, Saavik-kam._ : Nobody's perfect, Saavik.  
>  _Nashaut_ : A greeting between bonded couples or very close friends (you can guess which meaning I used; And yes, it was intentional for it to not have a hover translation in the fic :p)
> 
>  **Notes:**  
>  1 Vitush actually means "ash" in Vulcan, so Spock's hallucinations in this scene are actually an irony all their own.  
> 2 the temporary repression of pain with simultaneous muscle control; it is a mind discipline that requires years of devotion to master  
> 3 the original text was sampled from a Buddhist wedding ceremony, then tweaked to fit my purposes


End file.
